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INT. WHITE HOUSE DC - NIGHT - CHRISTMAS EVE, 2025
The camera pans down from a frost-covered window. The streets of Washington DC are eerily quiet. Inside, the luxurious yet strangely cold Oval Office gleams with gold-plated everything.
Seated at a gaudy desk, DONALD J. TRUMP, the ever-grouchy former president, scowls at a "MAGA Christmas Carol" card sitting unopened next to a pile of unpaid invoices. His orange face is lit by the pale glow of his oversized "TRUMP 2024" neon desk sign.
Across the desk, KAYLEIGH MCENANY, his loyal but exhausted press secretary, types furiously at a gold-plated laptop.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(gruffly)
Kayleigh, have you finished ghostwriting my “War on Christmas” tweet yet? The people need to know that Starbucks still hates Jesus.
KAYLEIGH MCENANY
(glancing nervously)
Almost done, Mr. Scrooge. Uh, I mean, Mr. Trump. Just a few more—
DONALD J. TRUMP
(interrupting)
A few more? Sad! You know, when I was president, everything got done perfectly and quickly. You’re slowing down. You must’ve been hanging out with Sleepy Joe’s interns.
Kayleigh flinches, trying to maintain her plastered-on smile.
DOOR CREAKS OPEN
In strides JARED KUSHNER, looking as ghostly pale as ever, wearing a Christmas sweater that says “Silent Knight.”
JARED KUSHNER
(cheerfully monotone)
Merry Christmas, Uncle Don! Ivanka and I are hosting a fabulous holiday dinner at Mar-a-Lago tonight. We'd love to have you join us. It's gonna be—
DONALD J. TRUMP
(snarling)
Jared, Christmas is a waste of time and money. And the food is always terrible. Ham? Overrated. Turkey? Dry. If it isn’t a Trump Steak, I don’t want it.
JARED KUSHNER
But, uh, sir, it’s about being with family. Family is important, right?
Donald waves him off with a tiny, dismissive hand gesture.
DONALD J. TRUMP
Fake news! I built my empire without needing anyone. Christmas is for losers. Tell Ivanka to stop pestering me about it. Go on, leave. You're blocking my portrait of myself.
Jared sighs and exits, visibly deflated.
MOMENTS LATER - ANOTHER INTERRUPTION
Two men in suits barge in. It's DR. ANTHONY FAUCI and BERNIE SANDERS, carrying clipboards and wearing matching "Save Christmas for the Poor" pins.
DR. FAUCI
Mr. Trump. We're collecting donations to provide food and heating for underprivileged families this Christmas.
BERNIE SANDERS
That’s right. Millions of Americans are suffering while billionaires like yourself hoard wealth! And don’t tell me “trickle-down” works because I’ve got the receipts.
Donald leans back in his massive gold chair, unimpressed.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(mocking)
Oh, boo-hoo. Heating for the poor? Maybe they should’ve invested in coal stocks like I told them. (leaning in) Also, Bernie, you’re STILL talking about socialism? Sad.
BERNIE SANDERS (face turning red)
You're exactly what’s wrong with this country!
DR. FAUCI
(pleading)
Mr. Trump, don’t you have any Christmas spirit? Or at least a tax deduction?
DONALD J. TRUMP
(snapping)
Out! Both of you! I have no time for liberal nonsense.
As they leave, grumbling, Kayleigh finally gathers the courage to speak.
KAYLEIGH ECENENY
Um, Mr. Trump, about Christmas Day... I was wondering if I could, uh, take the day off. Just one day! To see my family?
Donald glares at her like she just asked to impeach him.
DONALD J. TRUMP
Day off? For Christmas? Do you know how much I’m paying you—well, I mean, not paying you? You’re lucky to even work here! Fine. Take the day. But don’t expect any bonuses. Remember, loyalty is everything.
Kayleigh sighs with relief but mutters under her breath.
KAYLEIGH MCENANY
(muttering)
I could’ve just worked for Fox News...
Donald, oblivious, goes back to glaring at his stack of unopened mail.
INT. WHITE HOUSE DC - NIGHT
The garish penthouse glimmers with gold-plated everything. A giant portrait of DONALD J. Trump hangs over a marble fireplace, his smug grin radiating ego. Trump sits in a red velvet chair, nursing a Diet Coke, scrolling Truth Social on his oversized gold phone.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(muttering)
Fake news. Everyone’s fake. Christmas is fake. Sleepy Joe’s Christmas tree probably runs on wind power.
Suddenly, the room goes eerily cold. The fireplace dims. A metallic clinking sound echoes through the penthouse.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(looking around)
Kayleigh? Jared? Is this one of your stupid Christmas pranks? I told you, no pranks unless it trends.
A thunderous CLANG of chains. Emerging through the wall, wrapped in chains made of money boxes, tax evasion receipts, and foreclosure notices, is RUDY GIULIANI. His hair dye streaks down his face like ghostly tears, and he wobbles as if perpetually drunk.
RUDY GIULIANI
(groaning)
Don... Don... It's me, Rudy. Your old campaign lawyer and... part-time disaster manager. Remember?
DONALD J. TRUMP
(leaning forward, squinting)
Rudy? What the hell happened to you? Did the media finally cancel you? You look worse than when you sweated through that press conference.
RUDY GIULIANI
(clinking his chains)
Worse, Don. Worse! I’m damned, doomed to wander eternity tied to the weight of all my corruption, lies, and unpaid legal fees. And you’re next, buddy! (dramatic pause) These chains? You’ll have bigger ones. Gold-plated, sure, but heavier. Believe me.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(scoffing)
Heavier than yours? Impossible. I’m in perfect shape. I’ve seen my chains. They’d be tremendous. Everyone says so.
Rudy floats closer, his chains dragging across the marble floor.
RUDY GIULIANI
(pleading)
Don, listen to me! You’ve got one shot to save yourself from my fate. Tonight, you’ll be visited by three spirits. You’ve gotta listen to them, or you’ll be dragging chains so long, they’ll stretch from here to Mar-a-Lago. Believe me, I’ve seen it.
DONALD J. TRUMP
Three spirits? Sounds like a scam. (snickering) Let me guess, they’re from CNN?
Rudy groans, his ghostly figure flickering.
RUDY GIULIANI
No, Don! They’re here to save you. Think of them as the ultimate PR team. But they’re real. And if you don’t listen, well... let’s just say eternity isn’t kind to folks like us.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(rolling his eyes)
Sounds fake, but okay. What’s in it for me?
Rudy throws up his spectral hands in frustration, his chains rattling wildly.
RUDY GIULIANI
(shouting)
There’s no deal, Don! This isn’t The Art of the Deal, this is the Art of Not Ending Up in Eternal Damnation.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(shrugging)
Eh. Sounds like bad branding. Maybe I’ll tweet about it. #FakeGhosts.
Rudy shakes his head, his figure beginning to fade back into the wall.
RUDY GIULIANI
(desperately)
Don, don’t blow this! You’ve got three chances—don’t screw it up like my Four Seasons Total Landscaping gig!
Rudy vanishes with a final, pathetic clink of his chains. The room returns to normal. Donald sits back in his chair, unfazed.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(smirking)
Three spirits? They better not wake me up during Fox & Friends.
INT. WHITE HOUSE DC - BEDROOM - NIGHT
Donald J. Trump tosses and turns in his gigantic gold-plated bed, his silk "MAGA" pajamas shining under the faint moonlight. Suddenly, the clock strikes one, and the room is flooded with a faint green glow.
POOF!
Standing at the foot of the bed is J.P. MORGAN, the Ghost of Rich Dudes Past. He’s a towering figure, wearing an old-fashioned suit adorned with dollar signs, with a glowing cigar clamped between his teeth. A massive pocket watch dangles from his waistcoat, and stacks of 19th-century cash float in orbit around him.
J.P. MORGAN
(booming voice)
Donald J. Trump! Wake up, you gilded buffoon. I’m here to show you the real cost of greed.
Donald groggily sits up, blinking in disbelief.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(rubbing his eyes)
Who the hell are you? One of Biden’s regulators? Because you look like a trust-buster to me.
J.P. MORGAN
(smirking)
Ha! Regulators couldn’t bust me when I owned the 19th century, and they sure won’t now. I’m J.P. Morgan, the richest man of my era—and the first spirit of the night. I’m here to drag your sorry, spray-tanned soul back to your past. Let’s go, Donnie.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(scoffing)
Drag my soul? That’s fake news. My past was perfect. Everyone says so. Why would I want to revisit it?
J.P. MORGAN
(lighting his cigar with a hundred-dollar bill)
Oh, you’ll see. Trust me, it wasn’t all gold escalators and beauty pageants. Hold tight, we’re traveling first class.
J.P. Morgan snaps his fingers, and the room swirls into a green vortex.
FLASH! INT. QUEENS APARTMENT - 1950s
Young Donald, no more than seven, sits at a tiny dining table in a modest apartment. His father, FRED TRUMP, looms over him, dressed in a stiff suit even at home. His stern face is framed by a perfectly combed mustache.
FRED TRUMP
(gruffly)
Donny, stop playing with your food. Winners don’t waste time. And remember—never trust anyone who doesn’t look like you. That’s how you succeed.
YOUNG DONALD
(timidly)
But Dad, I just want to go outside and play. Can I have a friend over?
FRED TRUMP
(snapping)
Friends? Friends are for losers! You don’t need friends. You need power, Donny. And power comes from keeping everyone beneath you.
J.P. Morgan and adult Donald float above the scene, watching.
J.P. MORGAN
(dryly)
Charming guy, your dad. Really knew how to nurture a kid.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(defensive)
He was strict, sure, but look where it got me! The empire, the gold, the… well, everything. I turned out perfect.
J.P. MORGAN
(raising an eyebrow)
Perfect? Let’s keep going.
FLASH! INT. MILITARY ACADEMY - 1960s
Teenage Donald, in a too-large military uniform, stands at attention. A drill sergeant yells in his face.
DRILL SERGEANT
(barking)
Trump! Quit looking at yourself in the mirror and PAY ATTENTION! You’re not a king here, you’re just another cadet!
Teenage Donald smirks, ignoring the sergeant and smoothing his hair.
YOUNG DONALD
(mocking)
You say "just another cadet," but I think we both know I’m special. Everybody says so. Even my dad.
The sergeant rolls his eyes and storms off.
Floating above, adult Donald grins.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(proudly)
See? Even then, people knew I was different. A born leader.
J.P. MORGAN
(mocking)
Sure, let’s call it that. But maybe if someone had knocked that smug look off your face, we wouldn’t be here.
INT. EXCLUSIVE COUNTRY CLUB - DAY
The room is opulent, filled with polished oak, crystal chandeliers, and men in tailored suits discussing deals over cigars. JP MORGAN and DONALD J. TRUMP appear in the corner of the room. At the center of the scene, YOUNG DONALD sits across from FRED TRUMP, his father, at a mahogany table. Fred’s stern demeanor contrasts sharply with Donald’s overeager smile.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(glaring)
Oh no. I know this place. This was a great meeting! My dad loved my ideas.
JP MORGAN
(mocking)
Sure, Don. Let’s see how much he loved them.
YOUNG DONALD wearing a bright gold tie and a suit that screams “look at me,” shuffles papers in front of FRED TRUMP who sips his scotch with an unimpressed expression.
YOUNG DONALD
(eagerly)
So, Dad, here’s the plan. We’re going big—huge. Hotels, casinos, skyscrapers. I’ve already got my name picked out: TRUMP! It’s bold, it’s classy, it’s… me.
Fred raises an eyebrow, unimpressed.
FRED TRUMP
(dryly)
Trump? It's literally just your name. How’s that supposed to make money?
Donald laughs nervously, adjusting his tie.
YOUNG DONALD
(chuckling)
Oh, it’s not just about the name. It’s the brand. Branding is everything. People will pay just to be associated with it.
Fred leans back, lighting a cigar, his cold gaze piercing through Donald’s enthusiasm.
FRED TRUMP
(mocking)
People pay for quality, not a name. What’s your angle, Donnie? You gonna slap your name on a sandwich next?
Donald hesitates, his confidence faltering.
YOUNG DONALD
(stammering)
Well, I mean, with your connections and backing, it’ll be foolproof. A guaranteed win.
Fred exhales a cloud of smoke, his expression icy.
FRED TRUMP
(sarcastically)
Oh, of course. Daddy’s money solves everything. No hard work needed when you can just spend someone else’s cash, huh?
Donald leans forward, desperation creeping into his voice.
YOUNG DONALD
(pleading)
It’s not just the money, Dad! I’ve got the vision. The drive. People say I’m a natural leader.
Fred scoffs, setting down his cigar.
FRED TRUMP
(coldly)
People say a lot of things, Donnie. Doesn’t mean they’re true. You’re all flash, no substance. Always have been.
Donald’s face turns red, his composure cracking.
YOUNG DONALD
(defensive)
I’m building something bigger than you ever dreamed of! Skyscrapers! Casinos! My name’s going to be everywhere!
Fred smirks, shaking his head.
FRED TRUMP
(mocking)
Bigger isn’t always better, Don. You can’t just pile money on top of ego and call it success. One bad move, and it all comes crashing down.
Donald clenches his fists, glaring at his father.
YOUNG DONALD
(snapping)
You don’t believe in me! You never have!
Fred leans forward, his voice ice-cold.
FRED TRUMP
(seriously)
Belief doesn’t build empires. Brains and hard work do. And you, Donnie? You’re just playing dress-up in Daddy’s clothes.
DONALD J. TRUMP watches the scene, his face twisted with anger and humiliation.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(yelling)
That bastard never gave me credit! I proved him wrong! I built an empire—better than his!
JP MORGAN
(mocking)
Oh yeah? And how much of that empire is still standing? Face it, Don, you’ve been chasing his approval your whole life, and guess what? He never gave a damn.
Donald glares at JP, his voice trembling.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(desperate)
He was wrong! I was better than him! Everyone says so!
JP leans closer, smirking.
JP MORGAN
(coldly)
Everyone? Or just the people you paid to say it? Let’s face it, Donnie—Fred was right. All flash, no substance.
The scene fades as Fred’s mocking laughter echoes in the distance.
FLASH! INT. TRUMP TOWER - 1980s
A young Donald stands in the middle of his freshly constructed Trump Tower. Reporters swarm around him, microphones shoved in his face.
REPORTER
(eagerly)
Mr. Trump, how does it feel to have built such an incredible monument to your success?
YOUNG DONALD
(grinning)
Monument? This isn’t just a monument—it’s history. My history. The best history. Nobody builds like me. Nobody dreams as big as me.
In the corner, his first wife, IVANA TRUMP, stands with a child, DON JR., on her hip. She looks tired, trying to catch Donald’s attention.
IVANA TRUMP
Donald, please, the kids want to spend Christmas with you. Can you come home early?
YOUNG DONALD
(waving her off)
Ivana, this is bigger than Christmas. Bigger than anything. Besides, I’ll send a nanny. They’ll be fine.
Ivana sullenly exits.
Adult Donald frowns, shifting uncomfortably.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(muttering)
I was busy building an empire. She knew that.
J.P. MORGAN
(snarky)
Sure, Don. Empires are great, but maybe you could’ve taken a break to open a present or two.
FLASH! INT. REALITY SHOW SET - 2000s
Donald sits in a throne-like chair on the set of “The Apprentice.” Lights shine brightly as contestants line up in front of him.
YOUNG DONALD
(smirking)
You’re fired. And you’re fired. And—oh, wait—you’re fired too. This? This is what winning looks like.
Behind him, crew members exchange nervous glances.
CREW MEMBER
(whispering)
He’s unbearable. How does anyone work with him?
ANOTHER CREW MEMBER
(whispering)
Just smile and nod. He’ll fire himself eventually.
Adult Donald watches, his expression faltering.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(grumbling)
They didn’t understand me. They never did.
J.P. MORGAN
(sternly)
No, Don. They understood you perfectly. You just didn’t understand them.
INT. GLITTERY BACKSTAGE - BEAUTY PAGEANT - NIGHT
JP MORGAN snaps his fingers, and he and DONALD J. TRUMP appear backstage at a bustling beauty pageant. Sequins, makeup kits, and dresses are scattered everywhere. YOUNG DONALD strides confidently through the room in a garish suit, his trademark smirk plastered across his face.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(confused)
What’s this? A beauty pageant? I ran the greatest pageants. Tremendous. The contestants loved me.
JP MORGAN
(mocking)
Oh, I bet they did, Don. Let’s take a closer look at just how much they “loved” you.
The ghost gestures, and a spotlight follows YOUNG DONALD, who is weaving through the rows of contestants adjusting their makeup and gowns. His gaze lingers a little too long on each of them.
YOUNG DONALD stops next to a group of teenage contestants giggling nervously. He chuckles in that awkwardly booming way only he can.
YOUNG DONALD
(smirking)
Wow, you ladies look incredible. The best. Nobody runs a pageant like me, believe me. You’re lucky to be here. Very lucky.
One contestant, clearly uncomfortable, steps back slightly.
CONTESTANT 1
(awkwardly)
Uh, thank you, Mr. Trump. We’re excited to be here.
YOUNG DONALD
(grinning)
Oh, you should be. You know, I handpicked most of you. I have a great eye for beauty. Tremendous eye.
He leans in closer to another contestant.
YOUNG DONALD
(whispering)
Don’t worry if you make a mistake out there. I’ll be watching closely. Very closely.
The contestant exchanges a panicked glance with her friend. JP MORGAN winces, gesturing at the scene.
JP MORGAN
(dryly)
Really, Don? This is your legacy? A middle-aged guy lurking around a bunch of teens like the world’s creepiest PTA chaperone?
DONALD J. TRUMP
(defensive) I was being supportive! That’s what good leaders do. They appreciated my presence. You don’t get it—pageantry is an art.
The contestants huddle together as YOUNG DONALD walks off. Their whispers carry across the room.
CONTESTANT 2
(whispering)
Is it just me, or is he really weird? Like, why is he even back here?
CONTESTANT 1
(whispering)
I know, right? I heard he owns the pageant, but still… shouldn’t he be in the audience or something?
CONTESTANT 3
(sarcastic) Maybe he’s trying to “help.” Creepiest helper ever.
The girls share an uncomfortable laugh as JP MORGAN turns to Donald, arms crossed.
JP MORGAN
(mocking)
Yeah, they really appreciated you, Don. Real pillar of the pageant world.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(snapping)
Fake news! They loved me! Look at them laughing. They’re happy! I brought joy to their lives!
JP MORGAN
(deadpan)
Sure, Don. Nothing screams joy like thinly veiled terror and forced giggles.
YOUNG DONALD confidently pushes open a door labeled CONTESTANTS ONLY and steps inside. A group of contestants scream in surprise, covering themselves as they scramble to adjust their robes.
YOUNG DONALD
(grinning)
Relax, relax! Just checking in on my future stars. Everything’s looking good—real good.
CONTESTANT 4
(angrily)
Mr. Trump, you’re not supposed to be in here!
YOUNG DONALD
(shrugging)
It’s my pageant. I can go wherever I want. Besides, I’m just making sure everything’s running smoothly. Nobody knows pageants like me.
The contestants glare as he turns and casually strolls out.
JP MORGAN
(sarcastic)
Smooth operator, huh? Real charm. Bet you didn’t even hear how many times they muttered “gross” behind your back.
INT. GLITTERY BACKSTAGE
DONALD J. TRUMP shakes his head furiously, trying to wave off the scene.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(yelling)
This is a setup! It’s fake! I was being professional—very professional. People appreciated my attention to detail!
JP MORGAN
(mocking)
Oh, Don, you weren’t “professional.” You were a creep with a VIP badge. This? This is what you called “leadership.” And trust me, it only gets worse from here.
He snaps his fingers, and the glittery scene dissolves into darkness.
INT. LUXURIOUS BALLROOM - NIGHT
JP MORGAN and DONALD J. TRUMP materialize in a glitzy, over-the-top ballroom. The place is packed with wealthy elites, champagne flowing freely as laughter and whispers fill the air. In the center of the room, YOUNG DONALD stands with a smug grin, chatting with none other than JEFFREY EPSTEIN, who is leaning in with a devilish smirk.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(wide-eyed)
Oh no. Not this. I barely knew the guy! We were barely friends.
JP MORGAN
(mocking)
Barely friends? Don, you’re practically besties here. Look at you—two peas in a creep pod.
Donald tries to turn away, but JP snaps his fingers, forcing Donald to watch the scene unfold.
YOUNG DONALD, in a garish gold suit, sips his drink while EPSTEIN, clad in a black tux, leans in close, gesturing animatedly.
EPSTEIN
(smirking)
Donnie, my man, you’ve got it all—money, power, the charm of a snake oil salesman. But you’re holding back. You need to relax more, enjoy the finer things.
YOUNG DONALD
(grinning)
Oh, I know how to relax. Nobody relaxes better than me. Tremendous at it, actually. People say I’m the best.
EPSTEIN
(chuckling)
Sure, sure, but I’ve got something that’ll blow your mind. Ever been to my island? It’s like Vegas, but with no rules.
Donald raises an eyebrow, intrigued.
YOUNG DONALD
(curious)
No rules? I like the sound of that. What’s the deal?
EPSTEIN
(grinning wider)
Exclusive parties, VIPs only, absolute privacy. Whatever you want, whenever you want. You’re my kind of guy, Donnie.
In the corner of the ballroom, UNDERAGED GIRLS serve drinks to the crowd. They avoid eye contact, their nervous glances darting around the room. YOUNG DONALD doesn’t seem to notice, but EPSTEIN glances at them with a smug grin.
EPSTEIN
(lowering his voice)
You’ve got to check it out, Donnie. Trust me—it’s a place where winners like us can really cut loose.
YOUNG DONALD
(laughing)
Winners, huh? That’s me. People always say so. Maybe I’ll swing by sometime. Got to keep my options open.
From the sidelines, JP MORGAN watches with disgust, turning to DONALD J. TRUMP
JP MORGAN
(mocking)
“Winners”? More like the Olympic Creep Team. What were you thinking, Don? Hanging out with this guy?
DONALD J. TRUMP
(defensive)
It wasn’t like that! I barely talked to him! Everyone wanted to be friends with me—it wasn’t my fault!
EPSTEIN clinks glasses with YOUNG DONALD, leaning in conspiratorially.
EPSTEIN
(grinning)
You know, Donnie, you could use a place like my island. A little getaway. Maybe even… an investment opportunity?
YOUNG DONALD
(chuckling)
I don’t know. Sounds risky. But I do love a good deal. I’m the best at deals, you know.
EPSTEIN
(smirking)
No risk, all reward. Trust me, you’d fit right in. I mean, we’re cut from the same cloth.
JP MORGAN
(to Donald)
“Same cloth”? That’s not exactly a compliment, Don. This guy was basically the CEO of Slimy Inc.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(yelling)
I didn’t go! I didn’t invest! This doesn’t mean anything!
JP MORGAN
(mocking)
So, Donnie, still think you’re blameless? You were right there, soaking it all up. You can’t just blame this one on fake news.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(desperate)
I didn’t do anything! I wasn’t like him! People are always trying to smear me!
JP leans in, his tone serious.
JP MORGAN
(coldly)
Maybe you didn’t go to the island, Don, but you were happy to laugh with him, party with him, and turn a blind eye to everything. That makes you complicit.
Donald turns away, sweating, as the scene dissolves into darkness.
INT. A GLITZY NEW YORK GALA - NIGHT
JP MORGAN and DONALD J. SCROOGE appear in the middle of a glitzy gala. Crystal chandeliers glimmer overhead, and the room buzzes with the chatter of the ultra-rich. A younger, overly tanned YOUNG DONALD is seen sipping a martini, dressed in a too-shiny tuxedo, scanning the room like a predator.
DONALD J. TRUMP
grinning)
Oh, I remember this! The night I met Melania. She fell for me immediately. Who wouldn’t? Handsome, rich, tremendous hair. Best night of her life.
JP MORGAN
(mocking)
Oh yeah, Don? Let’s see if that’s how it actually went down.
He waves his hand, and the scene zooms in on YOUNG DONALD, who spots YOUNG MELANIA, a statuesque model, across the room. She’s deep in conversation, clearly unbothered by her surroundings. YOUNG DONALD adjusts his tie and saunters over with exaggerated confidence.
YOUNG DONALD
(grinning)
Well, well, well. Aren’t you the most beautiful woman in this room? Probably the world. People tell me I have a great eye for beauty. Tremendous eye.
YOUNG MELANIA
(glancing at him, unimpressed)
Hm. Thank you.
YOUNG DONALD
(leaning closer)
You know, I’m kind of a big deal. Billionaire. Real estate mogul. Owner of this very gala venue.
YOUNG MELANIA
(raising an eyebrow)
Really? I thought this gala was hosted by the charity.
Donald hesitates, then shrugs it off.
YOUNG DONALD
(laughing)
Details, details. I like your accent. Slovenian, right? I know all about Slovenia. Great country. They love me there.
YOUNG MELANIA
(skeptical)
You’ve been to Slovenia?
YOUNG DONALD
(smirking)
Not yet, but I hear it’s huge. Very classy. Like me.
Melania narrows her eyes, giving him a slow once-over.
YOUNG MELANIA
(flatly)
And what makes you so “classy”?
YOUNG DONALD
(grinning)
My hotels, my name, my everything. You’ve heard of Trump Tower, right? That’s me. It’s iconic. Like I’m gonna be. How about I take you there sometime? Private tour, just us.
Melania sips her drink, hiding a smirk.
YOUNG MELANIA
(dryly)
How romantic. Nothing says “date” like concrete and gold toilets.
Donald laughs, misinterpreting her tone.
YOUNG DONALD
(laughing)
Exactly! You get it! You’re smart—I like that. Not as smart as me, obviously, but you’ve got potential.
DONALD J. TRUMP
watches the exchange with a growing frown.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(snapping)
She was impressed! She said yes, didn’t she? She married me!
JP MORGAN
(mocking)
Yeah, Don. After about ten more years of you throwing money at her. But sure, let’s call it “love at first sight.”
Melania’s friend approaches, pulling her aside.
FRIEND
(whispering)
Who’s that guy? He looks like a used car salesman.
YOUNG MELANIA
(whispering back)
Apparently, he’s rich. Very rich. And very… confident.
FRIEND
(rolling her eyes)
You going to let him take you to his “golden palace”?
Melania glances back at Donald, still grinning like he’s just sold her a timeshare.
YOUNG MELANIA
(smirking)
Maybe. Let’s see how deep his pockets are.
YOUNG DONALD
gestures to the bartender, ordering another drink, his voice unnecessarily loud.
YOUNG TRUMP
(booming)
Make it the best champagne. Only the best for her. People always say I have the best taste.
Melania exchanges a look with her friend, barely suppressing a laugh.
YOUNG MELANIA
(to Donald)
Thank you. But I have to get back to my friends now. Maybe I’ll see you later.
Donald’s face falls slightly, but he quickly recovers, flashing his trademark grin.
YOUNG DONALD
(grinning)
Oh, you’ll see me again. I’m unforgettable. Everyone says so.
As she walks away, YOUNG DONALD turns to the bartender.
YOUNG DONALD
(muttering)
She’s hooked. Happens all the time.
DONALD J. TRUMP fumes as JP MORGAN chuckles.
JP MORGAN
(mocking)
“Unforgettable,” huh? She barely remembered your name until you pulled out the checkbook.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(yelling)
That’s not true! She loved me for me! Look at us now—married, rich, famous!
JP MORGAN
(grinning)
Married, sure. But rich and famous? That’s what she really fell for. Let’s not pretend she was swept off her feet by your dazzling personality.
The scene fades as JP shakes his head, leaving Donald to stew.
INT. TRUMP TOWER PENTHOUSE - DAY
JP MORGAN and DONALD J. TRUMP appear in the gaudy gold-and-marble living room of Trump Tower’s penthouse. The scene is over-the-top, dripping with excessive wealth. YOUNG DONALD sits on a couch, scrolling through his phone while a half-eaten Big Mac rests on a gold tray beside him.
The faint sound of a phone buzzing repeatedly breaks the silence.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(rolling his eyes) Oh, great. What’s this? I remember this day. Probably just business calls—I’m always in demand. Everyone wants to talk to me.
JP MORGAN
(mocking)
Business calls? Let’s take a closer look at who’s actually calling.
The camera zooms in on YOUNG DONALD’s phone. The screen reads: "DON JR." The call goes unanswered as Donald flicks his finger to silence it.
YOUNG DONALD
(grumbling)
What does he want now? Probably needs advice on another failed deal. Kid’s gotta learn to figure it out himself.
JP MORGAN
(to Donald)
Wow. Father of the Year material right here. I can see why they look up to you—when they’re standing on their tiptoes, screaming for attention.
The phone buzzes again. This time it’s a text from "DON JR."Hey, Dad, just wanted to catch up. It’s been a while. Hope you’re free!"
Donald glances at the text briefly before tossing the phone aside.
JP MORGAN
(mocking)
Yeah, Don. Heaven forbid you actually talk to your son. You’re too busy... doing what? Eating cold burgers and pretending to read Twitter like it’s the Wall Street Journal?
YOUNG MELANIA enters the room, dressed impeccably, holding a small purse. Her expression is icy and disinterested.
YOUNG MELANIA
(flatly)
Donald, I am going shopping. I need your credit card.
YOUNG DONALD
(grinning)
Shopping again? You’re gonna bankrupt me, Melania. But okay, here—just don’t go too crazy.
He hands over a black credit card without looking up. She takes it with a faint smile but doesn’t sit down or engage further.
JP MORGAN
(mocking)
Wow. Real marital bliss. I can feel the passion from here. This is what they mean by “true love,” huh?
Donald glares at JP.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(snapping)
She’s happy! Look at her! She smiles, she shops, she gets what she wants. That’s what marriage is about!
JP MORGAN
(dryly)
Yeah, Don, she’s thrilled. She smiles at your credit card more than she smiles at you.
Melania pauses at the door, glancing back at Donald with an unreadable expression.
YOUNG MELANIA
(coldly)
You know, sometimes I think about how peaceful my life would have been if I never met you.
Donald looks up briefly, but he doesn’t respond, instead shrugging and scrolling on his phone.
YOUNG DONALD
(shrugging)
Come on, Melania, that’s not fair. You’d miss all the glamour. The dinners, the parties. You’d be bored out of your mind without me.
YOUNG MELANIA
(smirking)
Maybe. Or maybe I’d be happy.
She exits without another word, leaving the door ajar. JP MORGAN whistles, shaking his head.
DONALD J. TRUMP fumes, pacing angrily.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(yelling)
She didn’t mean that! She loves me! Loves the life I give her! Everyone does!
JP MORGAN
(mocking)
Sure, Don. They love the life. But you? Not so much. Don Jr. wants your attention, and Melania’s just counting the days until your heart gives out so she can collect the check.
Donald points angrily at JP.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(snapping)
That’s not true! Don Jr. admires me! Melania appreciates me! You’re twisting things!
JP MORGAN
(grinning)
Twisting things? Nah, Don, this is your reality. You’re the one who ignored them while chasing headlines and cheeseburgers.
JP waves his hand, and the phone starts buzzing again, filling the air with the sound of unanswered calls.
INT. LUXURY HOTEL ROOM - NIGHT
JP MORGAN snaps his fingers, and he and DONALD J. TRUMP appear in a lavish, over-the-top hotel suite. The bed is unmade, champagne glasses are tipped over, and scattered clothes litter the floor. Standing in the middle of the room, looking thoroughly annoyed, is STORMY DANIELS, wearing a robe, arms crossed. YOUNG DONALD, still half-dressed in his suit and tie, stands awkwardly, trying to charm her with his trademark bravado.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(wincing)
Oh no. Not this. This didn’t happen! This is fake! I barely even knew her!
JP MORGAN
(mocking)
Barely knew her? Don, you’re standing there with your tie around your neck like a failed magician. Let’s see how much “barely” matters.
YOUNG DONALD, now clearly flustered, tries to fix his tie while STORMY DANIELS taps her foot impatiently.
STORMY DANIELS
(sarcastic)
Okay, Donnie, fun’s over. You got what you wanted. Now grab your spray tan and get the hell out of here.
YOUNG DONALD
(grinning nervously)
Come on, Stormy, you can’t kick me out like this. I’m Donald Trump! Nobody kicks out Donald Trump. People love me!
Stormy rolls her eyes and throws his jacket at him.
STORMY DANIELS
(mocking)
Yeah, yeah, people love you. Great. I don’t. Now move it. I’ve got a schedule, and you’re not on it anymore.
JP MORGAN
(snickering)
Ouch, Don. Even with all your “charisma,” she’s tossing you out like last week’s fake poll numbers.
Donald freezes at the door, realizing the potential fallout.
YOUNG DONALD
(panicking)
Wait, wait, wait! You can’t say anything about this. I mean, I’m married—to Melania. The best lady, by the way. Tremendous. This can’t get out.
Stormy leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, smirking.
STORMY DANIELS
(mocking)
Oh, don’t worry, Don. I wasn’t planning to tell anyone. But since you brought it up… how much is your silence worth to you?
Donald digs into his pocket, pulling out a stack of bills. TV dinner receipts and crumpled coupons fall to the floor as he shoves the cash at her.
YOUNG DONALD
(grinning nervously)
Here, take this. A gesture of goodwill. Consider it a gift from the most generous billionaire you’ll ever meet.
Stormy takes the money, flips through it, and raises an eyebrow.
STORMY DANIELS
(snickering)
Wow, you came prepared, huh? What, you keep “hush money” in every suit pocket?
YOUNG DONALD
(quickly)
It’s not hush money! It’s—it’s… a tip! For your hospitality. Nobody tips better than me.
Stormy laughs, tossing the money onto the nightstand.
STORMY DANIELS
(mocking)
Sure, Donnie, whatever you need to tell yourself. Now get out before I start charging you rent.
Donald hesitates, still trying to salvage the moment.
YOUNG DONALD
(pleading)
Come on, Stormy, you had fun, right? It was great. Everyone says I’m the best. Just ask around. You don’t want to lose this connection.
Stormy opens the door, shoving his jacket into his arms.
STORMY DANIELS
(mocking)
Lose this connection? Donnie, the only thing I want to lose is you. Buh-bye!
She gives him a gentle push, forcing him out of the room. The door slams behind him, and YOUNG DONALD stands in the hallway, disheveled and muttering to himself.
JP MORGAN cackles, leaning against the gold-accented wall as DONALD J. TRUMP glares at him.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(yelling)
This is fake! A smear campaign! She wanted me! Everyone does! This is ridiculous!
JP MORGAN
(mocking)
Oh yeah, Don? Because it looked like she couldn’t wait to write you a thank-you note. Face it, you weren’t the star of that show—you were the punchline.
Donald shakes his head furiously, but JP just shrugs.
JP MORGAN
(grinning)
Don’t worry, though. At least you paid for the silence, right? Good thing that plan worked out so well.
The scene dissolves as Stormy’s laughter echoes in the background.
FLASH! INT. TRUMP TOWER - 2016
Donald sits in his golden office, staring at the TV as election results roll in. Staffers cheer and pat him on the back.
STAFFER
(excitedly)
You did it, sir! You’re going to be president!
Donald barely reacts, staring at the screen.
SLIGHTLY YOUNGER DONALD
(quietly)
President… Now they’ll have to love me. Right?
J.P. Morgan looks at adult Donald, who looks visibly shaken.
J.P. MORGAN
(serious)
Did they, Don? Or did you just keep pushing people away until there was no one left?
INT. OVAL OFFICE - DAY
JP MORGAN, the Ghost of Rich Dudes Past, and DONALD J. TRUMP appear in the center of the Oval Office during Donald’s first presidential administration. The room is chaotic—papers are strewn across the desk, half-eaten fast food wrappers cover the floor, and aides frantically run in and out, dodging YOUNG DONALD's erratic gestures and booming voice.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(grinning)
Look at this! My first term. Glorious, wasn’t it? Everyone loved me. We were making America great again, bigly.
JP MORGAN
(mocking)
Bigly? More like “messily.” Let’s watch the magic, Donnie. Or should I say... the trainwreck.
YOUNG DONALD sitting behind the Resolute Desk, holds court with STAFFERS and CABINET MEMBERS, including SEAN SPICER, KELLYANNE CONWAY, and a visibly exhausted REINCE PRIEBUS. Donald waves his hands dramatically as he talks.
YOUNG DONALD
(booming)
Listen, everyone’s saying we had the best inauguration crowd. The biggest crowd. People are still talking about it. Forget those fake photos—they’re fake. Fake news.
REINCE PRIEBUS
(whispering to Kellyanne)
It wasn’t even close. Why are we still talking about this?
KELLYANNE CONWAY
(shrugging)
Alternative facts, Reince. Get with the program.
SEAN SPICER
(sweating)
I already yelled at the press for three days straight. Can we move on, sir?
YOUNG DONALD
(ignoring him)
No, we can’t move on! This is important. Tremendously important. Everyone needs to know I’m winning. I’m the best winner there ever was.
The room dims as YOUNG DONALD pulls out his phone and begins furiously typing.
JP MORGAN
(mocking)
Oh boy, here comes the finger fury. Ready to relive your greatest hits?
Donald smirks nervously as YOUNG DONALD fires off tweets at lightning speed.
YOUNG DONALD (typing) "The failing @nytimes is lying again! Sad!"
"Crooked Hillary is STILL under investigation. LOCK HER UP!"
"Kim Jong Un is a short little rocket man. Watch out!"
The phone beeps repeatedly as AIDES panic.
STAFFER 1
(panicking)
Mr. President, please—stop tweeting about North Korea! You’re going to start a war!
YOUNG DONALD
(grinning)
A war? No way. I’m a dealmaker. Tremendous deals. Kim loves me. You’ll see.
STAFFER 2
(whispering)
Should we call the Joint Chiefs?
REINCE PRIEBUS
(muttering)
Call a therapist.
The scene shifts to YOUNG DONALD standing at a podium during a NATO summit. The other world leaders look visibly uncomfortable as he jabs his finger in the air.
YOUNG DONALD
(booming)
You guys haven’t been paying your fair share. It’s pathetic! Disrespectful to America. You’re all lucky I even showed up.
ANGELA MERKEL
(rolling her eyes)
We’ve been paying for years. What is he even talking about?
EMMANUEL MACRON
(whispering)
I think he’s confused. Or drunk. Or both.
Donald shoves past them, puffing out his chest.
JP MORGAN
(mocking)
Ah yes, diplomacy at its finest. Nothing says “global respect” like bullying Angela Merkel. How’d that work out?
DONALD J. TRUMP watches, his face growing redder by the second.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(yelling)
This is all fake news! I was a great president! The greatest! The people loved me!
JP MORGAN (grinning) Oh yeah, Don?
EXT. THE WHITE HOUSE - NOVEMBER 2020
They appear outside the White House on election night. Inside, chaos reigns. YOUNGER DONALD is pacing in a golden bathrobe, glued to a TV showing election returns. Staffers, including KAYLEIGH CRATCHIT, huddle in the corner, whispering nervously.
YOUNGER DONALD
(yelling)
Stop the count! STOP THE COUNT! This is a disaster. A conspiracy. Everyone’s against me. Even the Sharpies—traitors!
KAYLEIGH MCENANY
(nervously)
Mr. President, maybe we should wait until all the ballots are counted before—
YOUNGER DONALD
(waving her off)
Wrong! Ballots don’t matter. I called it first. That’s how winning works. It’s basic branding.
Floating above, J.P. MORGAN and adult Donald watch the scene unfold.
J.P. MORGAN
(mocking)
Wow. Truly presidential. Screaming at TV screens and declaring victory before the game ends.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(defensive)
Everyone was against me! Fake news! RINOs! Big Tech! The list is endless. This was strategy, not panic.
FLASH! INT. OVAL OFFICE - DECEMBER 2020
The room is filled with loud voices. YOUNGER DONALD, flanked by a sweaty RUDY GIULIANI and an overly dramatic SIDNEY POWELL, stares at a table cluttered with maps, Sharpie-marked ballots, and conspiracy charts.
RUDY GIULIANI
(sweating)
Mr. President, I’ve got the goods. Dead voters! Dominion machines! Aliens from Area 51! It’s airtight.
SIDNEY POWELL
(wild-eyed)
And don’t forget the Italian satellites! This is bigger than Watergate times ten.
YOUNGER DONALD
(nodding)
Perfect. It’s a rigged system. Release it all. People love a good conspiracy.
J.P. Morgan laughs, pointing at the chaotic scene.
J.P. MORGAN
(mocking)
Italian satellites? That’s the best your crack team could come up with?
DONALD J. TRUMP
(huffing)
It was compelling! People believed it. Did you see my rallies? They were massive.
J.P. MORGAN
Oh, we’ll get to your rallies.
FLASH! EXT. THE CAPITOL - JANUARY 6, 2021
The sound of chants and chaos fills the air. Supporters in red hats storm the Capitol, waving flags and shouting slogans. On a massive screen, YOUNGER DONALD appears, addressing the crowd.
YOUNGER DONALD
(shouting)
Fight like hell, or you’re not going to have a country anymore! And don’t forget—I love you. You’re very special.
The crowd roars as windows shatter and lawmakers flee.
Floating above, adult Donald looks a little uneasy.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(muttering)
Well, they were passionate. That’s not illegal, right?
J.P. MORGAN
(deadpan)
Passionate? Don, they’re breaking into the Capitol with Viking hats. This isn’t passion—it’s madness. You lit the match.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(snapping)
It wasn’t my fault! They took things too far. I just said what everyone was thinking.
J.P. MORGAN
(smirking)
Sure, Don. Because “peaceful transfer of power” is so boring.
INT. COURTROOM - NIGHT
The scene is a chaotic courtroom, dimly lit, with piles of legal documents stacked everywhere, spilling onto the floor. JP MORGAN, the Ghost of Rich Dudes Past, drags a reluctant DONALD J. TRUMP into the middle of the room. At the judge’s bench sits a towering, shadowy figure flipping through endless binders labeled "TRUMP BANKRUPTCIES" and "DIVORCES."
The walls are lined with BILL COLLECTORS, EX-WIVES, and DISGRUNTLED BUSINESS PARTNERS, all glaring at Donald. The sound of slamming gavels and shuffling papers fills the air.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(panicking)
What is this? A courtroom? Ridiculous. I don’t lose in court. Everyone knows I’m the best at legal stuff.
JP MORGAN
(mocking)
Oh yeah? Because it looks like the court’s been keeping score, Donnie.
The shadowy JUDGE slams the gavel, making Donald flinch.
JUDGE
(booming)
Donald J. Trump, you stand accused of multiple bankruptcies, unpaid debts, and being a serial divorcee. What do you have to say for yourself?
DONALD J. TRUMP
(smirking)
Fake news. I never went bankrupt. Those were strategic filings. Very smart, very legal. Ask anyone.
JP MORGAN
(snickering)
“Strategic”? Filing for bankruptcy six times? Sure, Don. Real genius-level planning.
Suddenly, PAPERS AND DEBT NOTICES rain down from the ceiling, burying Donald in a growing pile. He flails helplessly as they cover him.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(yelling)
This is a hoax! I don’t have debt! I’m rich! Billionaire rich! Everyone knows it!
JP MORGAN
(mocking)
Billionaire, huh? Then why are you swimming in red ink, Don? Look at these—unpaid loans, lawsuits, stiffed contractors. Your “empire” is built on IOUs.
Donald pulls out a crumpled document from the pile and squints at it.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(defensive)
This one doesn’t count! It’s… a technicality. A very complicated situation. Nobody understands how business works like me.
DISGRUNTLED CONTRACTOR
(yelling)
You never paid me for that hotel you built in Atlantic City! My family went bankrupt because of you!
DONALD J. TRUMP
(snapping)
Atlantic City was a disaster. Not my fault. Bad economy. Terrible people running the state.
The contractor throws a brick of UNPAID BILLS at Donald, which lands with a loud thud.
MELANIA TRUMP appears, holding a designer purse, her expression cold and distant.
MELANIA TRUMP
(flatly)
Donald, you said marriage was “tremendous.” But all you ever loved was your money—and yourself.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(pleading)
Melania, that’s not true! I gave you everything! The White House, diamonds, tremendous amounts of attention!
MELANIA TRUMP
(deadpan)
Attention? You mean tweeting at 3 a.m. instead of talking to me? No thanks. I stayed for the prenup, not the romance.
The crowd laughs, and Donald grows red-faced, trying to climb out of the pile of documents.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(shouting)
This is all fake! They’re bitter, jealous, all of them! I’m the victim here!
The JUDGE slams the gavel, and the room goes silent.
JUDGE
(booming)
The evidence is clear. Donald J. Scrooge, you’ve lived a life of lies, greed, and irresponsibility. The court sentences you to face the truth—for eternity.
The pile of papers swirls into a vortex, pulling Donald down. He screams as the DEBTORS AND EX-WIVES laugh, pointing at him.
Donald tumbles out of the scene, landing in a heap at JP Morgan’s feet. He glares up, disheveled and panicked.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(snapping)
That was a witch hunt! Rigged! Totally unfair!
JP MORGAN
(mocking)
Oh, Don, keep telling yourself that. But let’s face it—you’re not a billionaire. You’re a bill-ionaire.
The fiery, chaotic courtroom in Hell is even more ominous now. The SHADOWY JUDGE, cloaked in flames, looms over the bench. DONALD J. TRUMP sits in the defendant’s chair, sweating bullets, flanked by JP MORGAN.
SHADOWY JUDGE
(booming)
Donald J. Trump, you are charged with disgracing the legacy of the Republican Party. To assess the damage, we call upon the great Republican presidents of history to testify!
DONALD J. TRUMP
(smirking)
Pfft, history? They’re just jealous. Nobody’s done more for the party than me. Nobody! Tremendous achievements!
JP MORGAN
(mocking) Oh, this should be good. Let’s see what the real Republicans have to say about your “achievements.”
A burst of white light fills the room, and ABRAHAM LINCOLN appears, tall, dignified, and slightly annoyed. His stovepipe hat is pristine, but his beard looks frazzled, as if he’s been yanked out of a very long nap.
LINCOLN
(dryly)
Well, this is unexpected. I thought the afterlife would be peaceful. Instead, I’m here, wasting my eternal rest to deal with this guy.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(grinning)
Honest Abe! The best! People always compare me to you, you know. They say I’m the greatest Republican since Lincoln. Big shoes to fill, but I did it.
Lincoln raises an eyebrow, unimpressed.
LINCOLN
(mocking)
Oh, really? Last I checked, I freed the slaves, preserved the Union, and wrote the Gettysburg Address. You... incited an insurrection and made Twitter unbearable.
The courtroom erupts in laughter. Donald glares, crossing his arms.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(snapping)
Fake news! That’s not true. Everyone loved my tweets!
LINCOLN
(deadpan)
And yet, I somehow managed to lead without hashtags. Incredible, isn’t it?
The courtroom shakes as THEODORE ROOSEVELT storms in, a larger-than-life figure in his Rough Rider uniform. He slams his fist on the stand, his booming voice filling the room.
ROOSEVELT
(yelling)
Bully! This is the scoundrel they’re comparing to us? This orange buffoon couldn’t lead a charge up a kiddie hill, let alone San Juan!
DONALD J. SCROOGE
(offended)
Teddy, come on! I built skyscrapers! Golf courses! Nobody has bigger deals than me.
ROOSEVELT
(mocking)
Bigger deals? I broke up monopolies, built the Panama Canal, and protected millions of acres of wilderness. You put your name on overpriced hotels and called it a day. A child could do that!
The crowd howls with laughter as Donald fidgets in his chair.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(defensive) Nobody respects nature more than me! I love trees. I planted trees!
ROOSEVELT
The only thing you planted was doubt in democracy, and even that was half-hearted. Pathetic!
A calm but commanding presence fills the room as DWIGHT D. EISENHOWER steps forward, adjusting his military uniform. He exudes quiet authority, his face lined with the wisdom of a man who built alliances and highways.
EISENHOWER
(measured) Mr. Trump, I built the Interstate Highway System, ended a war, and warned America about the military-industrial complex. What, exactly, did you accomplish?
DONALD J. SCROOGE
(grinning)
Accomplish? I gave us the greatest economy in history! Tremendous tax cuts. Ask anyone.
Eisenhower folds his arms, unimpressed.
EISENHOWER
(mocking)
The greatest economy? Didn’t it crash during your presidency? And weren’t you impeached—twice?
The room erupts in gasps and murmurs. Donald’s face turns red.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(yelling)
That’s fake! Totally fake! I was treated unfairly!
EISENHOWER
(calmly)
Life is unfair, Mr. Trump. Leaders rise above it. You… whined about crowd sizes.
The laughter crescendos, and Donald slams his fists on the table.
LINCOLN, ROOSEVELT, and EISENHOWER stand together, glaring down at Donald. Their combined aura radiates dignity, honor, and competence.
LINCOLN
(sternly)
You’ve tarnished the party’s name, Mr. Trump. The Republican Party once stood for unity and liberty. Now it’s a circus.
ROOSEVELT
(growling)
A circus of weaklings and grifters! You couldn’t carry this party on your back if you tried—and believe me, you wouldn’t even try.
EISENHOWER
(calmly)
History will remember you, Mr. Trump. But not for the reasons you think.
Donald looks around, panicking as the crowd cheers the presidents.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(pleading)
Come on, guys! You don’t get it! It was different in my time. The media was out to get me! I had enemies everywhere!
LINCOLN
(mocking)
Funny, I had enemies too. But I didn’t spend my time calling them names on social media.
ROOSEVELT
(laughing)
And I faced death head-on. You hid in a bunker.
JP MORGAN shakes his head, grinning.
JP MORGAN
(mocking)
Tough crowd, huh? The real greats weren’t too impressed with your “tremendous” legacy.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(snapping)
They’re jealous! They don’t get it! I’m the greatest president ever! Believe me!
JP MORGAN
(snorting)
Sure, Donnie. Keep telling yourself that. History might say otherwise.
The chaotic courtroom becomes even more surreal as a PATCH OF GOLF GREEN appears in the middle of the floor, right where the mound of legal documents had been moments before. The smell of freshly mowed grass fills the air, and the faint sound of a golf ball being struck echoes. From the center of the green, IVANA TRUMP suddenly EMERGES, still wearing a glamorous red dress but covered in dirt, her hair slightly disheveled.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(gasping)
Ivana?! What are you doing here?! And what’s with the golf course?
IVANA TRUMP
(furious)
Oh, you want to talk about the golf course, Donald? Maybe because you buried me on it like I was some cheap lawn ornament!
JP MORGAN
(snickering)
Who knew your final resting place would double as a tax write-off? Classy, Don. Real classy.
IVANA TRUMP storms toward DONALD, dirt flying off her heels as she points an accusatory finger.
IVANA TRUMP
(yelling)
I gave you my youth, my support, my brilliance—and you repaid me by turning me into a golf course attraction! What am I, the 19th hole?
DONALD J. TRUMP
(defensive)
It was a business decision! Very smart, very legal. You’d be proud of me, Ivana! It’s the best spot on the course.
IVANA TRUMP
(mocking)
Oh yes, proud. So proud to know my grave gets trampled on by overweight men in polo shirts yelling “fore!” You’re a disgrace, Donald.
Suddenly, MARLA MAPLES enters through the courtroom doors, her expression icy but her tone cool and sharp.
MARLA MAPLES
(sarcastically)
Oh, don’t feel too bad, Ivana. At least he’s consistent. I gave him a child and years of my life, and all I got was a tabloid circus and a few alimony checks.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(throwing up his hands)
Marla! You were lucky to be with me! I made you famous! Before me, you were... what? A Broadway understudy?
MARLA MAPLES
(rolling her eyes)
And you were... what? A guy with bad hair and a worse personality? Let’s not rewrite history, Donnie.
Ivana turns to Marla, her fury momentarily tempered by the opportunity to commiserate.
IVANA TRUMP
(smirking) You too, huh? Did he also promise you the moon and deliver nothing but fake gold furniture and constant embarrassment?
MARLA MAPLES
(laughing)
Oh, absolutely. And don’t forget the lawyers. So many lawyers.
IVANA TRUMP
(grinning)
I told you, Marla. He’s all show, no substance.
They both turn to DONALD J. SCROOGE, who looks cornered.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(pleading)
Ladies, come on! You both lived like queens! Private jets, the best clothes, the best everything. Nobody treated their wives better than me. Ask anyone!
The courtroom atmosphere shifts dramatically. IVANA TRUMP and MARLA MAPLES exchange a knowing glance as DONALD J. TRUMP nervously adjusts his tie. The room grows darker, and suddenly, medieval torches illuminate the space. A dramatic drumroll echoes as the courtroom transforms into a MEDIEVAL COURTROOM, complete with a throne room.
IVANA TRUMP and MARLA MAPLES now appear dressed as QUEENS, adorned in elaborate crowns and regal gowns, their expressions icy and imperious.
IVANA TRUMP
(mocking)
Oh, we’re queens now, are we?
MARLA MAPLES
(grinning)
Queens, huh? Well, Donnie, you’re about to learn what happens when queens are very unhappy.
The crowd cheers as KNIGHTS IN GOLD ARMOR appear, grabbing Donald by his arms and dragging him toward the throne.
IVANA TRUMP sits on the larger throne, looking down at Donald with disdain.
IVANA TRUMP
(mocking)
You say you treated us like queens. But queens don’t get buried on golf courses, Donald. Queens don’t get traded in for the next shiny thing.
MARLA MAPLES
(nodding)
And queens certainly don’t get gaslit while you’re sneaking around with pageant contestants and handing out hush money like Halloween candy.
Donald stammers, his face pale.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(pleading)
Come on, ladies! You had the best of everything—diamonds, jets, gold toilets! Nobody treated their wives better than me. Ask anyone!
IVANA TRUMP
(mocking)
Oh, really? Nobody? Well then, let’s make this royal court decision unanimous. What do we say, Marla?
MARLA MAPLES
(grinning)
Easy. Off with his head.
Suddenly, a GUILLOTINE rises from the floor, the blade glinting ominously. The crowd cheers wildly, chanting, “OFF WITH HIS HEAD!” The knights drag Donald to the wooden platform and force him into the guillotine’s neck restraint.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(panicking)
This is ridiculous! You’re taking this way too far! Queens are supposed to be merciful! I was tremendous to you both!
IVANA TRUMP
(mocking)
Tremendous at lying, cheating, and avoiding responsibility. Time to face the music, Don.
MARLA MAPLES
(smirking)
And don’t worry—we’ll give you a gold coffin. You love gold, right?
As the executioner steps forward, readying the guillotine, Donald desperately looks up at his ex-wives.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(screaming)
Please! I’ll change! I’ll build you castles! Real castles! Bigger than anything Europe’s got!
IVANA TRUMP
(mocking)
Too little, too late, Donald.
MARLA MAPLES
(grinning)
But hey, thanks for the laugh.
The executioner yanks the lever, and the BLADE DROPS but the scene immediately shifts to black as Donald’s scream echoes.
INT. WHITE HOUSE DC - NIGHT
Donald J. TRUMP tosses in bed, his golden silk sheets tangled around him. He hears a booming, cackling laugh echo from the other room.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(grumbling)
What now? Jared, is this another one of your parties? I told you, no parties unless they’re my parties.
The laughter grows louder. Donald begrudgingly gets out of bed, throwing on his robe, and stomps toward the sound.
INT. WHITE HOUSE DINING ROOM
Donald enters to find an AMAZON CHRISTMAS WONDERLAND. The room is filled with fake snow, Prime delivery boxes stacked like presents, and a massive Christmas tree made entirely of Amazon drones, their propellers spinning in festive sync.
Standing at the center is JEFF BEZOS, shirtless in a metallic Santa hat, his bald head gleaming like an ornament. He flexes his muscles as he tosses packages into a bottomless Prime bag.
JEFF BEZOS
(cheerfully booming)
Ho ho ho! Welcome, Donald! Come and know me better, man!
Donald squints at him, unimpressed.
DONALD J. TRUMP
Bezos? What are you doing here? I thought you were busy undercutting small businesses or launching yourself into space.
JEFF BEZOS
(laughing loudly)
Oh, Don! I’m not just Jeff Bezos—I’m the Ghost of Rich Dudes Present! And tonight, I’m going to show you what real wealth looks like. No loans from Dad, no tacky hotels—just Pure domination.
Bezos gestures around the room as an Alexa device chimes in.
ALEXA
Jeff Bezos is the richest man in the world. Estimated net worth: incalculable.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(frowning)
Alexa, stop. Nobody likes a show-off.
JEFF BEZOS
(ignoring him) This, Donald, is what it means to own the future. I deliver Christmas to billions. While you’re still fighting over election recounts, I’ve automated joy. Now come with me—there’s Prime business to attend to.
Donald folds his arms, suspicious.
DONALD J. TRUMP
Why should I go anywhere with you? You’re not even that rich. I mean, look at you—bald. Sad!
Bezos smirks, snapping his fingers. The drones lift them into the air, carrying them through the room.
INT. AMAZON CHRISTMAS WONDERLAND - NIGHT
The Amazon drones hum quietly as they lower DONALD J. SCROOGE and JEFF BEZOS, the Ghost of Rich Dudes Present, onto a moving platform. Around them, rows of packages zoom by on conveyor belts, each labeled with cheerful Prime stickers.
JEFF BEZOS
(grinning)
Alright, Don, time to see what your bigly policies and actions mean for the little guys. Buckle up, because this is going to be more brutal than a one-star review.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(grumbling)
Little guys? Why does everyone care about the little guys? They don’t even own skyscrapers. Waste of time.
JEFF BEZOS
(mocking)
Spoken like a true titan of selfishness. Let’s take a peek at the world you’ve built.
Bezos claps, and the platform begins to glide forward through a series of holographic projections.
The platform stops at a shuttered storefront in a decaying town square. A faded sign reads: Small Business Emporium – Closed for Good.”
Inside, a family sits around a tiny heater, sharing a single can of soup. The father, BILL, sighs heavily as his daughter wraps herself in a threadbare blanket.
Bezos smirks and glances at Donald.
JEFF BEZOS
(mocking)
Look at that, Don! Your policies killed their business.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(defensive)
Nobody asked them to run a failing store. If they were smart, they’d join my golf club.
JEFF BEZOS
(snickering)
Sure, because golf really solves poverty. Let’s keep moving.
The platform zips into an enormous Amazon fulfillment center. Workers in dull uniforms rush around, grabbing items off shelves.
A supervisor shouts at the workers.
SUPERVISOR
(barking)
Keep moving, people! 500 items per hour minimum, or you’re out. No excuses!
A worker wipes his brow, glancing at a photo of her kids tucked into his pocket.
Donald watches with mild discomfort.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(muttering)
That’s… dedication. He should get a “Trump Hustle Award” or something.
Bezos rolls his eyes.
JEFF BEZOS
Dedication? He’s breaking his back for pennies while you hoard your gold. Even I pay better than this. And you know how much I hate paying people.
The platform glides into an overcrowded ER. Patients on stretchers line the walls as overworked nurses scramble to keep up. GINA stands near the front desk, pleading with a receptionist.
GINA
(desperate)
Please, my son needs his medicine. I’ll pay what I can next week—just let him see a doctor.
The receptionist shakes her head.
RECEPTIONIST
I’m sorry, ma’am. Without full payment, we can’t treat him. Maybe you could try one of those crowdfunding websites?
GINA breaks down in tears as Donald shifts uncomfortably.
DONALD J. SCROOGE
(nervously)
Okay, that’s not great. But that’s not my fault. Healthcare is complicated. I said so.
JEFF BEZOS
(grinning)
Sure, Don. Except you cut safety nets while giving tax breaks to people like me. I’m sending rockets to space while Tim can’t get a Band-Aid. But yeah, not your fault.
The platform now floats above a row of tents under a highway overpass. Families huddle together around small fires, sharing scraps of food.
A man in a tattered suit stares into the distance.
MAN
(bitterly)
Trump called us lazy. Said we just needed to work harder. But when rents doubled and wages stayed flat, where were we supposed to go?
Donald crosses his arms, trying to act unaffected.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(snapping)
Look, they’re not trying hard enough. I worked hard. Nobody helped me, except maybe my dad. And some banks. And the government. But still!
Bezos bursts into laughter.
JEFF BEZOS
(mocking) Wow, Don. Real empathy there. Maybe you can give them a copy of The Art of the Deal for warmth.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(grumbling)
Are we done yet? I’ve seen enough crying kids and tired workers. Let’s move on. Show me something good, like a wall.
JEFF BEZOS
(chuckling)
Oh, Don, you want a wall? I’ve got just the thing. Buckle up—it’s about to get frosty in here.
Bezos claps his hands, and the room dissolves into icy blue fog.
The fog clears to reveal rows of chain-link cages inside a brightly lit warehouse. Families huddle together under thin Mylar blankets. The cries of children echo in the space as border guards patrol the perimeter.
Donald stands frozen, staring at the scene, while Bezos leans casually against a stack of confiscated belongings.
JEFF BEZOS
(mocking)
Here it is, Don. Your big, beautiful immigration policy in action. You wanted to keep people out? Well, you locked them in instead. Genius branding.
A young child clings to the fence, crying for her mother.
CHILD
(sobbing)
Mamá! Mamá!
Nearby, a tired mother pleads with a guard.
MOTHER
(desperate)
Please, let me see my daughter. She’s sick. She needs me.
The guard shakes his head and walks away.
Donald shifts uncomfortably, clearing his throat.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(defensive)
It’s… it’s not supposed to look like this. These places were supposed to be temporary. Tremendous facilities. The best.
JEFF BEZOS
(snorting)
Temporary? Some of these kids haven’t seen their parents in years. Great for your “tough on immigration” pitch, though. Really plays well with your base.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(muttering)
They broke the law. What was I supposed to do? Give them a Trump hotel room?
Bezos gestures to a group of toddlers huddled in a corner.
JEFF BEZOS
(mocking)
Sure, because three-year-olds are clearly criminal masterminds. Big threat to national security, Don. Huge.
Donald looks away, frowning.
The scene shifts abruptly to a quiet outdoor memorial. Rows of candles and photos line the steps of a public square. Families kneel by the displays, placing flowers and weeping. The faint sound of ventilators and news reports echoes in the background.
Donald and Bezos float above the scene. A woman clutches a photo of her husband and a small child tugs at her sleeve.
CHILD
(confused)
When is Daddy coming back?
The woman breaks into sobs, unable to answer.
Donald’s face hardens, though he avoids looking directly at the grieving family.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(snapping)
This isn’t fair. I did everything right! Operation Warp Speed, best vaccines, fastest rollout. I’m the reason we even had a vaccine!
JEFF BEZOS
(smirking)
Sure, Don. But while you were patting yourself on the back, people were dying in hospital hallways. Remember the bleach thing? That was a real hit.
Nearby, a nurse in scrubs kneels in front of a photo collage of fallen coworkers.
Donald bristles, glaring at Bezos.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(gruffly)
Nobody could’ve done better. Nobody knew what to do. I followed the science… mostly.
JEFF BEZOS
(mocking)
Sure, Don. And by “followed the science,” you mean tweeted about it and passed the buck. Real leadership.
The platform moves into a modest living room. A teenage girl sits on the couch, staring blankly at a Christmas tree. The ornaments are half-finished, and the lights flicker weakly. Her mother sits beside her, holding an urn.
MOTHER
(tearfully)
He would’ve loved the tree this year. He always did the lights, didn’t he?
The girl nods silently, wiping a tear from her cheek.
Donald shifts uncomfortably, looking anywhere but at the grieving family.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(muttering)
It’s… it’s not my fault. People die every year. That’s just life.
Bezos steps in front of him, crossing his arms.
JEFF BEZOS
(seriously)
No, Don. It’s not about the deaths—it’s about the lack of compassion. While people were losing everything, you were tweeting “OPEN THE ECONOMY” and playing golf.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(snapping)
People needed jobs! The stock market was tanking! I had to do something.
JEFF BEZOS
(snarky)
Oh, sure. Because Dow Jones numbers really comfort grieving families.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(snapping)
Enough with the sob stories and candlelight vigils. This is all fake news. I did everything perfectly. Best response in history. Everyone says so.
JEFF BEZOS
(smirking)
Oh, Don. Perfect, huh? Let’s see how perfect looks from another angle.
Bezos snaps his fingers, and the room shifts violently.
Donald and Bezos now stand atop a towering mountain of COVID-19 VICTIMS. Thousands of bodies stretch into the darkness, the peak barely visible through the haze. The air is thick with silence, broken only by the faint sound of ventilators and sobs.
Donald looks down and gasps, his HANDS NOW DRIPPING WITH BLOOD. He stumbles back, shaking his head.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(panicking)
What—what is this? My hands? This isn’t right. This isn’t real!
Bezos stands calmly, adjusting his metallic Santa hat, his grin replaced by a grim seriousness.
JEFF BEZOS
(mocking)
Oh, it’s real, Don. Every press conference, every deflection, every downplayed death—it’s all right here. Your legacy, immortalized in red.
Donald frantically wipes his hands on his robe, but the blood doesn’t come off.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(shouting)
No! I didn’t kill anyone! I gave them the tools! Vaccines, ventilators—I saved millions!
Bezos leans closer, his voice low and cutting.
JEFF BEZOS
(seriously)
Saved millions? Sure, let’s go with that. But what about the ones you didn’t save? The ones you called “nobodies” while you played golf and tweeted conspiracies? They’re all right here.
Donald stares at the mountain of bodies. The faces of nurses, doctors, and families stare back at him, their eyes filled with pain and betrayal.
FLASH!
Suddenly, a WOMAN appears near the base of the mountain, clutching her son, whose face is pale and frail. She screams up at the peak.
WOMAN
(desperately)
You promised help! You said you cared about families! Where were you when my son needed medicine?
Donald stumbles back further, his voice cracking.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(weakly)
I—I didn’t mean for this. I didn’t know it would get so bad.
Bezos steps in front of him, pointing at his blood-soaked hands.
JEFF BEZOS
(mocking)
Didn’t know? Oh, you knew, Don. But knowing didn’t fit the narrative, did it? Couldn’t let a pandemic ruin your press.
FLASH!
Another figure appears—a man in a hospital gown, barely able to stand. He points accusingly at Donald.
PATIENT
(weakly)
You told us it was a hoax. A flu. I believed you. Now my kids don’t have a father.
The mountain shifts, and more voices rise, echoing around Donald.
VOICES
(angrily overlapping)
- “You told us masks didn’t matter.”
- “You said bleach could save us.”
- “You let us die while you laughed.”
Donald drops to his knees, clutching his head, the blood on his hands now spreading to his arms.
The air is thick with silence, but slowly, faint whispers grow louder. The faces of the dead twist and contort, their eyes glowing red.
Suddenly, HAND-LIKE SHAPES begin rising from the mountain, their movements slow and deliberate. The bodies below SHIFT AND GROAN, a sea of accusing voices growing stronger.
VOICES
(overlapping, whispering)
- "You lied to us."
- "You let us die."
- "You could have stopped this."
Donald stumbles backward, his eyes wide with terror.
DONALD J. TRUMP (panicking) What is this? This isn’t real! Bezos, stop it! I don’t deserve this—I’m the greatest president of all time!
Bezos steps back, folding his arms, an amused smirk on his face.
JEFF BEZOS
(mocking)
Oh, I think they’d disagree. Looks like they want a little chat, Don. Better hold on tight.
The ZOMBIES burst from the mountain, clawing at Donald. Their hands grab his ankles, pulling him down as he screams.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(screaming)
No! I’m too rich for this! Somebody, help me! Where’s my security detail?
The voices turn into eerie laughter as the zombies drag him further into the mountain. Bezos watches with a raised eyebrow.
JEFF BEZOS
(calling after him)
Enjoy the ride, Don! Next stop: eternal accountability.
Donald is fully engulfed by the writhing mass of bodies, screaming as he’s pulled into the FLAMING CORE of the mountain.
Donald crashes into a fiery, cavernous space. The ground is hot to the touch, glowing with molten lava. Demonic figures loom in the shadows, their laughter echoing around him.
Out of the darkness steps DEMON NANCY PELOSI, her skin glowing orange like molten lava, with massive bat-like wings and a flaming gavel in her hand.
DEMON PELOSI
(mocking)
Well, well, well. Look who finally made it. Welcome to Hell, Donald. I’ve been expecting you.
Donald scrambles to his feet, brushing ash off his robe.
DONALD J. SCROOGE
(snapping)
Pelosi? Is that you? What is this, some impeachment joke? I beat you twice!
From another corner, DEMON ALEXANDRIA OCASIO-CORTEZ steps forward, her tail flicking menacingly, a pitchfork in hand.
DEMON AOC
(mocking)
Twice? Sure, Grandpa, if you count getting by on technicalities. Down here, we don’t play by your rules. Welcome to my green new inferno!
DEMON CHUCK SCHUMER emerges next, his horned head glowing faintly as he adjusts his demonic glasses.
DEMON SCHUMER
(calmly mocking)
We’ve got a lot to discuss, Donald. Down here, there are no filibusters, no lawyers, and certainly no “executive privilege.”
DONALD J. TRUMP
(panicking)
You can’t do this to me! I’m Donald J. Trump! I had the best rallies! People loved me!
DEMON JOHN MCCAIN strides forward, his skeletal frame wreathed in flames, dragging a chain behind him.
DEMON MCCAIN
(grinning)
Oh, Don, I’m afraid your rallies didn’t follow you here. Just me. Did you miss me?
Donald stumbles back, shaking his head.
DONALD J. SCROOGE
(desperately)
No! Not McCain! You lost! You’re supposed to be gone!
McCain laughs, his chains rattling.
DEMON MCCAIN
(mocking)
Gone? Oh no, Don, I’m here to remind you of all the people you tried to bury. Turns out, we’ve got all eternity to settle the score.
The demons encircle Donald, flames rising around them. Pelosi slams her flaming gavel on a jagged rock.
DEMON PELOSI
(mocking)
Let’s start with the lives lost on your watch. How does it feel to be the least effective leader in history?
DONALD J. TRUMP
(defensive)
Least effective? I was the greatest! I saved the stock market!
AOC steps forward, her pitchfork sparking.
DEMON AOC
(mocking)
Yeah, Don, because Wall Street bonuses are so comforting to people who couldn’t afford ventilators.
Schumer shakes his head, tsking.
DEMON SCHUMER
(calmly)
You’ve always cared more about yourself than anyone else. Down here, that kind of selfishness gets punished.
McCain rattles his chains ominously.
DEMON MCCAIN
(grinning)
And guess what? You don’t have a golf course to hide behind this time.
The ground beneath Donald cracks open, and fiery chains shoot up, wrapping around his wrists and ankles. He struggles, screaming.
DONALD J. SCROOGE
(screaming)
This isn’t fair! I demand a recount! Somebody get Rudy! Get my lawyers!
Pelosi smirks, leaning in close.
DEMON PELOSI
(mocking)
Down here, Don, there are no lawyers. Only consequences.
The chains yank Donald into the air as the demons laugh.
DONALD J. TRUMP breaks free from his fiery chains and sprints through the burning caverns of Hell. Flames erupt around him as the mocking laughter of DEMON PELOSI and her group echoes in the distance.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(panting, muttering)
Gotta get outta here. This place is a disaster. The worst. Nobody escapes Hell better than me—nobody.
As he rounds a corner, he slams into a towering figure. It’s DEMON HERMAN CAIN, his spectral form surrounded by swirling smoke. His eyes glow red, and he holds a flaming pizza paddle.
DEMON HERMAN CAIN
(grinning)
Donnie! Fancy seeing you here. Didn’t expect the boss who abandoned me to join me so soon!
DONALD J. TRUMP
(nervously)
Herman! I, uh, didn’t abandon you. You were great. Really great. People loved you. Nine-nine-nine, right?
DEMON HERMAN CAIN
(laughing)
Oh, sure, Don. You loved me so much you let me campaign for you maskless during a pandemic. That worked out real well for me.
Herman raises his flaming pizza paddle and swings it toward Donald, who dodges just in time and runs deeper into the cavern.
INT. HELL - LAVA PIT
Donald stumbles into a room filled with molten lava. Perched on jagged rocks is DEMON MICHAEL FLYNN, his wings made of shredded court documents, holding a flaming sword.
DEMON MICHAEL FLYNN
(mocking)
Donald! My old boss. The man who begged me to plead guilty and then threw me to the wolves. How’s that loyalty working out for you now?
DONALD J. SCROOGE
(defensive)
Flynn, I pardoned you! I saved you! You owe me!
Flynn swoops down, his sword crackling.
DEMON MICHAEL FLYNN
(sneering)
Oh, sure. After you left me twisting in the wind for months. But don’t worry, I’ll repay the favor—right after I cut you down to size!
Donald scrambles away, narrowly avoiding Flynn’s flaming sword, and dives into another tunnel.
INT. HELL - A MAZE OF FLAMING DESKS
Donald lands in a room filled with flaming desks piled high with paperwork. Sitting at one of them is DEMON REINCE PRIEBUS his suit tattered and smoldering. He flips through papers with a gavel made of molten lava.
DEMON REINCE PRIEBUS
(mocking)
Look who it is! Mr. "You’re Doing a Terrible Job." Tell me, Don, how’s it feel to be at the bottom for once?
DONALD J. TRUMP
(frustrated)
Reince, I had to let you go. You weren’t up to the job. Nothing personal.
DEMON REINCE PRIEBUS
(smirking) Not up to the job? Says the guy who fired me so he could bring in Scaramucci. Great decision-making there, chief.
Donald tries to step around him, but flaming paper chains shoot out from the desks, wrapping around his legs.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(yelling)
Let me go! I don’t have time for this!
Reince shrugs, snapping the papers away, and Donald tumbles forward into another corridor.
INT. HELL - A DARK ROOM WITH A SINGLE SPOTLIGHT
Donald catches his breath in the dark, quiet space. A single spotlight illuminates a figure. It’s DEMON ANTHONY SCARAMUCCI slick and smirking, spinning a fiery Rolodex.
DEMON ANTHONY SCARAMUCCI
(grinning)
Donnie boy! The Mooch is back, baby. Ten days in your White House, but I’ll have eternity here with you.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(rolling his eyes) Mooch, you were the worst hire I ever made. Even I know that.
DEMON ANTHONY SCARAMUCCI
(mocking)
Oh, I was bad? You were the one with the revolving door of losers. I wasn’t even the craziest! But hey, at least I know how to handle a short-term gig. How’s your permanent stay in Hell going?
The Rolodex explodes, sending fiery cards flying at Donald, who dodges them and bolts toward the exit.
INT. HELL - A FIERY OPERATING ROOM
Donald stumbles into a grotesque operating room. DEMON TOM PRICE looms over a flaming examination table, holding a scalpel made of fire. His white coat is scorched, and he adjusts his melted glasses.
DEMON TOM PRICE
(mocking)
Donald, remember me? Your Secretary of Health? Fired for taking too many flights? Well, now it’s your turn to take a trip—straight to the inferno!
DONALD J. TRUMP
(desperate)
Tom, I fired you because you embarrassed me! You wasted money! You should’ve been grateful to even be there!
DEMON TOM PRICE
(laughing)
Grateful? You’re the king of wasting money, Don. And now you’ll pay with interest.
Price lunges at Donald with his fiery scalpel, but Donald dives under a table and crawls into another tunnel.
INT. HELL - A BURNING LABYRINTH
Donald races through the flaming maze, the mocking voices of his former staffers echoing behind him.
DEMON HERMAN CAIN
(distant)
"Nine-nine-nine, Don!"
DEMON MICHAEL FLYNN
(distant)
"Loyalty cuts both ways!"
DEMON REINCE PRIEBUS
(distant)
"Terrible job, huh?"
DEMON ANTHONY SCARAMUCCI
(distant)
"Still hiring the best, Don?"
DEMON TOM PRICE
(distant)
"Your turn, Donald!"
Donald collapses in the center of the labyrinth, his face drenched in sweat and fear.
INT. HELL - FLAMING PATHWAY
DONALD J. TRUMP stumbles along a burning path, panting, his golden robe torn and covered in ash. He mutters to himself, nervously glancing over his shoulder as the mocking voices of the demons echo faintly in the distance.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(grumbling)
This is ridiculous. Total witch hunt. Nobody’s been treated worse in Hell than me—nobody.
He rounds a corner and freezes. Before him stands a DEMONIC FIGURE RESEMBLING A NEW YORK TIMES REPORTER, his skeletal hands clutching a flaming notepad. The demon’s twisted form is hunched over, and his glowing eyes burn with malice. It’s unmistakably a parody of SERGE F. KOVALESKI, the reporter Trump once mocked.
DEMON KOVALESKI
(smirking)
Well, well, well. Look who finally made the front page. Donald J. Scrooge, Hell’s biggest loser.
Donald stiffens, his face turning red.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(snapping)
You again? I didn’t mock you! That was fake news! Everyone knows I’m the most respectful guy—tremendous respect. Ask anyone.
DEMON KOVALESKI
(mocking)
Oh, sure, Don. Tremendous respect. I remember you flailing around on stage, making fun of my disability. Great material. Real classy.
DONALD J. SCROOGE
(defensive)
It wasn’t like that! I was being… animated! People loved it!
The demon flips open his flaming notepad, scribbling furiously.
DEMON KOVALESKI
(mocking)
Animated? Is that what we’re calling it now? Well, let’s animate your punishment, shall we?
Suddenly, the ground beneath Donald erupts, and CHAINS OF FLAMING INK shoot up, wrapping around his wrists and ankles. He struggles, but the chains pull him down to his knees.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(yelling)
This is unfair! I’ve done nothing wrong! You’re just bitter because you work for the failing New York Times!
The demon leans in close, his grin widening.
DEMON KOVALESKI
(mocking)
Failing? Looks like I’m doing better than you, Don. Welcome to the “fake news” you created. It’s all coming back to bite you now.
INT. HELL - A BURNING ARENA
The chains drag Donald into a massive arena lit by pillars of fire. At its center, a GIANT DEMON RESEMBLING HILLARY CLINTON sits on a throne of scorched emails, her massive horns curling upward. Her laughter booms through the cavern.
DEMON HILLARY CLINTON
(mocking)
Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite “lock her up” enthusiast. How’s Hell treating you, Don?
Donald freezes, staring up at her in disbelief.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(stammering)
Hillary? No—this isn’t real. You lost! You’re not supposed to be here!
Hillary’s grin widens as she leans forward, her claws tapping rhythmically on her throne.
DEMON HILLARY CLINTON
(mocking)
Oh, I’m here, Don. And I’ve been waiting for this moment. You see, in Hell, the tables turn. Now, it’s my turn to chant: lock him up.
The arena fills with the eerie chant of “LOCK HIM UP! LOCK HIM UP!” as flaming shadows swirl around them.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(screaming)
This is a hoax! Another witch hunt! You can’t do this to me—I was the best president ever!
Hillary rises from her throne, towering over Donald.
DEMON HILLARY CLINTON
(mocking)
Best president ever? Sure, Don. That’s why you ended up here, right? All those “tremendous” policies, all that “winning.” Let’s see how much you’re winning now.
She snaps her fingers, and fiery chains wrap around Donald, pulling him toward her throne.
DEMON KOVALESKI
(laughing)
Oh, Don, this is one headline you can’t spin.
Donald thrashes against the chains, screaming.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(panicking)
No! This isn’t fair! I’m innocent! You’re all against me—this is a rigged system!
Hillary smirks, leaning down to whisper.
DEMON HILLARY CLINTON
(mocking)
You’re right, Don. It is rigged. Just like you wanted. Enjoy the swamp.
As the flames engulf Donald, the arena echoes with the laughter of the demons and the chant of "LOCK HIM UP!”
INT. WHITE HOUSE BEDROOM - NIGHT
DONALD J. TRUMP jolts awake in his lavish bed, gasping for air. His golden silk pajamas are drenched in sweat, and he frantically looks around the room. It’s quiet, save for the faint ticking of a grandfather clock.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(panting)
I’m back? I’m alive? Of course, I am. That was a nightmare. Fake news! Hell’s just liberal propaganda.
His relief is short-lived as he notices a SHORT FIGURE IN A HOODED CLOAK standing silently at the foot of his bed. The figure radiates an unnerving confidence, even though it barely reaches his waist.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(narrowing his eyes)
What’s this? Rudy? No, you’re too short. Elon? Is this another one of your pranks?
The figure pulls back the hood to reveal LIL TAY, decked out in a sparkling tracksuit with “$$$” embroidered in rhinestones. She holds a wad of cash in one hand and an iPhone in the other, already livestreaming.
LIL TAY
(grinning)
Yo, Donnie, it’s ya girl, Lil Tay, the Ghost of Rich Dudes Future! I’m here to show you what happens if you keep being the biggest loser on the planet. Get ready—it’s gonna be lit.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(stammering)
Lil Tay? Aren’t you that internet kid who yells about being rich? What are you doing in my bedroom?
LIL TAY
(mocking)
What am I doing here? I’m here to save your sorry orange self, duh. You’re about to see the future you built. Spoiler alert: it’s trash. Let’s roll.
Before Donald can respond, Lil Tay claps her hands, and the room dissolves into a swirling vortex of neon light and dollar bills.
EXT. AMERICA IN THE FUTURE - NIGHT
The vortex spits them out onto a dilapidated street in what looks like a post-apocalyptic America. The buildings are crumbling, and giant screens blast propaganda featuring an older DONALD J. TRUMP declaring himself “SUPREME LEADER FOR LIFE.” The streets are filled with homeless families huddling around trash fires while robotic police patrol menacingly.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(staring at the chaos)
What… what is this? It looks like a bad movie set. Who let this happen?
LIL TAY
(snickering)
You did, Donnie. This is your America, 20 years from now. You ran unchecked, called yourself “Supreme Leader,” and gutted everything that didn’t make you money. Congrats—you’re the king of a dumpster fire.
A starving child picks up a crumpled Trump campaign poster from the ground and uses it to stoke a trash fire.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(indignant)
That’s not me! I don’t run a dumpster fire! I run the classiest, most tremendous empire in history!
LIL TAY
(rolling her eyes)
Oh yeah? Keep watching, Supreme Dumpster King.
Lil Tay drags Donald to a polluted river filled with oil slicks and dead fish. Nearby, a corporate executive in a Trump-branded hazmat suit laughs as he pours barrels of toxic waste into the water.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(defensive)
This can’t be me! I care about the environment. I said so once—didn’t I? Didn’t I plant a tree or something?
LIL TAY
(mocking)
Yeah, you planted a tree, then cut it down to build a casino. You gutted every regulation because it “hurt the economy.” Now people are drinking sludge. Great job.
They arrive at a crowded field hospital filled with patients coughing and moaning. Doctors scurry around with broken equipment.
Donald looks shaken but quickly recovers.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(snapping)
This isn’t my fault! People should’ve saved more money. They can’t expect handouts!
LIL TAY
(grinning)
Oh, they didn’t get handouts. You cut every safety net and said, “Good luck.” Now Tiny Tim’s about to kick the bucket. But hey, your stock portfolio’s killing it, right?
Lil Tay drags Donald to a massive square where a giant golden statue of him stands, holding a smartphone. Soldiers in MAGA helmets march in formation as a crowd of terrified citizens watch propaganda on giant screens.
DONALD J. TRUMP ON SCREEN
(smirking)
This is the best America ever. Everyone says so. Tremendous freedom—just don’t criticize me, or else!
A man whispers something to his friend, and robotic police immediately zap him with a taser. The crowd murmurs in fear.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(proudly)
Look at this! Law and order. People respect me here.
LIL TAY
(deadpan)
Yeah, they “respect” you because they’re scared out of their minds. You silenced the press, outlawed protests, and turned the country into a bad sci-fi movie. Congrats on being the villain.
EXT. A WAR-TORN UKRAINE - NIGHT
LIL TAY, the Ghost of Rich Dudes Future, stands in the rubble of a once-beautiful city, her sparkly tracksuit glowing faintly under the gray, war-filled sky. DONALD J. SCROOGE stumbles forward, brushing ash off his golden robe. Explosions echo in the distance as he looks around in horror.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(confused)
What is this? Ukraine? I thought this place was fine. I told Putin to “be nice,” didn’t I? I was very diplomatic.
LIL TAY
(snapping)
Diplomatic? Shut the fuck up, Don. You gave Putin the green light to take whatever the fuck he wanted. This is what happens when you suck up to dictators instead of, I dunno, leading.
Donald flinches as a nearby building collapses, sending dust and debris into the air. Families in tattered clothes scramble through the streets, dragging what little they can carry.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(defensive)
It’s not my fault! Ukraine wasn’t paying their NATO dues. Why should I care?
Lil Tay stomps up to him, jabbing a finger into his chest.
LIL TAY
(furious)
You didn’t give a shit because it didn’t make you look good. You let Putin run wild, and now look—this place is a goddamn nightmare. Hope you’re proud, “Supreme Leader.”
FLASH!
EXT. GAZA - DAY
The scene shifts abruptly to a decimated neighborhood in Gaza. Smoke rises from bombed-out buildings, and civilians sift through the rubble, searching for survivors. Tanks rumble in the distance, and airstrikes shake the ground.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(stammering)
Gaza? Why are we here? I thought Bibi had it under control. He’s my guy! Great guy, tough guy.
Lil Tay glares at him, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
LIL TAY
(mocking)
Oh yeah, Bibi’s a real gem, huh? You let that motherfucker do whatever the hell he wanted. “Tough guy”? Sure, if tough means flattening cities and killing civilians.
Donald watches as a child pulls a bloodied teddy bear from the rubble. A group of medics rushes to help, but their supplies are pitifully low.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(grumbling)
I was just being supportive. I said “good job” on Twitter. What else was I supposed to do?
LIL TAY
(shouting)
HOW ABOUT NOT FUCKING ENCOURAGING WAR CRIMES, YOU ORANGE DUMBASS?! You gave these assholes a blank check and called it “peace.” Now this place is screwed. Congrats.
The camera pans across miles of desperate refugees from both Ukraine and Gaza, walking through barren landscapes. Families huddle together under makeshift shelters, their faces gaunt and hopeless.
A group of reporters films the scene. One turns to the camera.
REPORTER
(grimly)
This humanitarian crisis has left millions displaced. World leaders, including former President Trump, are widely blamed for their inaction and enabling of these catastrophic events.
Donald flinches as he hears his name.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(yelling)
Blamed? Why am I blamed? I didn’t drop any bombs!
Lil Tay grabs his arm and spins him around to face her.
LIL TAY
(furious)
No, but you stood by and let the assholes with the bombs do whatever the fuck they wanted. You didn’t lead, Don. You kissed their asses, and now the whole goddamn world is paying for it.
The scene shifts to a RUINED STATUE OF DONALD J. SCROOGE, lying broken and defaced in a wasteland. The plaque reads: “HERE LIES THE LEGACY OF APATHY AND CHAOS.”
Donald stares at it, speechless, while Lil Tay crosses her arms.
LIL TAY
(mocking)
Looks good, huh? Real “tremendous” legacy. Instead of MAGA, you made it “Make Armageddon Great Again.” Congrats, dipshit.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(desperate) No, this isn’t right. This can’t be how it ends. People loved me! They cheered for me!
Lil Tay rolls her eyes, pulling out her phone to check her notifications.
LIL TAY
(bored)
Yeah, they cheered, alright. Until the bombs dropped and their lives turned to shit. Now they’re cheering for your ass to stay dead.
Donald collapses to his knees, staring at the broken statue. The sound of refugees crying and explosions echoes in his ears.
EXT. THE RIO GRANDE - NIGHT
The once-mighty Rio Grande flows sluggishly, its waters dark and still. LIL TAY, the Ghost of Rich Dudes Future, and DONALD J. TRUMP appear on its banks. The air is thick with the stench of decay, and the sound of buzzing flies fills the air. A towering GOLDEN WALL looms on the far side of the river, its surface gleaming faintly in the moonlight. Etched into the wall are the words: "SOME PEOPLE ARE MORE EQUAL THAN OTHERS."
Floating in the river are the BODIES OF MIGRANTS, their faces frozen in desperation and fear.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(horrified)
What… what the hell is this? The Rio Grande? It looks like a swamp. This can’t be my fault. I built the wall. A beautiful wall. Tremendous wall. It was supposed to protect us!
LIL TAY
(snapping)
Protect? Shut the fuck up, Don. Your “beautiful” wall didn’t protect shit. It just turned this river into a goddamn graveyard. Congrats, Mr. Big Hands, you turned the American Dream into a fucking nightmare.
Donald inches closer to the edge of the river, peering at the lifeless bodies. The faint cries of survivors echo from somewhere far downstream.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(stammering)
No, no, no—this isn’t me. I didn’t tell anyone to die here. I just… I just wanted to keep America safe!
Lil Tay steps in front of him, pointing at the phrase on the wall.
LIL TAY
(furious)
Safe? Safe for who, you orange dipshit? For the rich assholes sipping champagne behind this fucking wall? These people were running from cartels, wars, and shit YOU ignored while you tweeted about golf scores.
Donald wipes his forehead nervously, backing away from the river.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(defensive)
They didn’t have to come. They knew the risks. I was just enforcing the law—keeping things fair.
Lil Tay lets out a bitter laugh, her fists clenching.
LIL TAY
(mocking)
“Fair”? Are you fucking serious? Look at that wall, Don. "Some people are more equal than others." That’s your legacy. You built a country where brown people drown and rich assholes get richer. Fair my ass.
Nearby, a MOTHER AND HER CHILD stand at the foot of the wall, their clothes soaked and torn. The mother bangs on the wall with her fist, her voice hoarse from crying.
MOTHER
(sobbing)
Please! Let us in! My baby is sick—he needs medicine!
On the other side of the wall, AUTOMATED GUARDS patrol back and forth, ignoring her pleas. The child coughs weakly, clinging to his mother’s side.
Donald stares, his expression faltering.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(muttering)
It’s not my fault. There are rules. You have to follow the rules. That’s how it works.
Lil Tay steps beside him, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
LIL TAY
(mocking)
Rules? The fuck kind of rules are these, Don? “No kids allowed if they’re not white enough”? You made these rules. You let this happen. Look at that mom—she’s dying on your watch, asshole.
The child collapses, and the mother screams, clutching him to her chest. Donald turns away, his face pale.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(whispering)
This… this can’t be real. It’s fake news. A hoax. Something… something went wrong.
Lil Tay drags Donald toward the wall, forcing him to face the massive inscription: "SOME PEOPLE ARE MORE EQUAL THAN OTHERS."
LIL TAY
(yelling)
Read it, Don. That’s YOUR slogan. That’s what your bullshit policies boiled down to. You made a world where people like you are kings, and everyone else is fucking expendable.
Donald shakes his head, tears streaming down his face.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(sobbing)
I didn’t mean it. I didn’t want this.
Lil Tay spins him around, grabbing his collar.
LIL TAY
(furious)
No, but you didn’t stop it either, did you? You just kept building your fucking empire while the bodies piled up. Well, guess what, Donnie? Those bodies? They’re YOURS now.
EXT. NEW YORK CITY - FIFTH AVENUE - NIGHT
LIL TAY and DONALD J. SCROOGE stand in a dimly lit version of Fifth Avenue. The once-bustling street is eerily quiet, but not abandoned—groups of WEALTHY SOCIALITES in extravagant fur coats and tailored suits huddle together under streetlights, whispering and laughing.
Donald squints at them, his golden robe billowing in the chilly wind.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(grumbling)
What’s with the chatter? Sounds like a party. Why wasn’t I invited?
LIL TAY
(rolling her eyes)
Chill the fuck out, Don. It’s not a party. These rich assholes are talking about someone who finally kicked the bucket.
Donald perks up, crossing his arms.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(smirking)
Finally? Someone big, huh? Probably one of those low-energy losers from the other side. Can’t wait to hear who it is. Let’s go mingle.
Lil Tay grabs his arm before he can move closer.
LIL TAY
(snapping)
Hold the fuck up, Don. You don’t wanna hear this shit. Trust me. Let’s keep it moving.
Donald pulls his arm free, glaring at her.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(snapping back)
Of course, I want to hear it! If they’re talking about someone important, I should know. I’m the most important person there is!
Lil Tay rolls her eyes, muttering to herself.
LIL TAY
(sarcastically) Yeah, most important dipshit in the afterlife. Fine, go ahead. But don’t start crying like a little bitch later.
They approach a group of WEALTHY SOCIALITES, who sip champagne from crystal flutes, standing near a limousine. Their laughter is icy and smug, their words deliberately vague.
SOCIALITE 1
(snickering)
Can you believe it? Finally gone. I honestly thought he’d never die.
SOCIALITE 2
(mocking)
Oh, please. We all knew it would happen eventually. The question was just when.
SOCIALITE 3
(grinning)
The world’s a better place without him, that’s for sure. No more bluster, no more chaos. Good riddance.
Donald stares at them, his face a mixture of curiosity and indignation.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(demanding)
Who are you talking about? What bluster? What chaos? You better not mean me—people love me. Everyone loves me!
The group ignores him, laughing louder, their words becoming more pointed.
SOCIALITE 1
(mocking)
Remember the tantrums? The “greatest this” and “tremendous that”? God, it was exhausting.
SOCIALITE 2
(laughing)
Don’t forget the nicknames. He thought he was hilarious. Sad, really.
SOCIALITE 3
(snorting)
Not sad anymore. He’s finally shut up—for good.
Donald’s face turns red with rage. He turns to Lil Tay, pointing a trembling finger at the group.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(yelling)
Who are they talking about? It’s not me, right? Tell me it’s not me!
Lil Tay leans against a lamppost, flipping through her phone casually.
LIL TAY
(shrugging)
I dunno, Don. Maybe it’s you. Maybe it’s not. You’re not exactly Mr. Popularity, though, so… yeah, it’s probably you.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(desperate)
No! It can’t be me! They’re wrong. I’m the greatest leader, the richest man, the most beloved—right? RIGHT?
Lil Tay pockets her phone and steps closer, smirking.
LIL TAY
(mocking)
You really wanna know, huh? Fine. Let’s find out. But don’t start crying like a little bitch when the truth smacks you in your orange face.
FLASH!
INT. A FUNERAL HOME - NIGHT
The scene shifts to a lavish, empty funeral home. A solitary, cheap casket sits on a golden stand. A lone janitor mops the floor nearby.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(confused)
What is this? Where’s the crowd? The cameras? The mourners?
Lil Tay gestures to the empty chairs.
LIL TAY
(mocking)
What crowd, Don? Nobody gives a fuck. This is your funeral. Just you, a discount casket, and a janitor who’s only here ‘cause it’s overtime.
Donald stumbles back, shaking his head in disbelief.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(screaming)
No! This isn’t real! It can’t be me! They loved me! The rallies—the crowds! I was the best president ever!
Lil Tay steps forward, her voice cold.
LIL TAY
(serious)
Nah, Don. They loved your bullshit. But you? They hated. You’re just a punchline now. Congrats, Supreme Loser.
Donald collapses to his knees, sobbing as the janitor continues mopping, humming a tune.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(desperate)
No! This can’t be it! Someone must have had some emotion. I was… I was the greatest president ever! Tremendous! The best! There has to be someone!
LIL TAY leans casually against the wall, picking at her nails.
LIL TAY
(mocking)
Oh, you really wanna know if anyone gave a fuck, huh? Fine, Donnie. Let’s see if there’s anyone shedding a tear for your orange ass.
She snaps her fingers, and the room dissolves into a swirling vortex of neon lights and champagne bubbles.
INT. A CROWDED CLUB - NIGHT
The scene shifts to a lively, extravagant club filled with MINORITIES of all ages and backgrounds dancing, drinking, and laughing. The music is loud, the atmosphere joyous, and a giant neon sign on the wall reads: “DING DONG, THE DON IS DEAD!”
DONALD J. TRUMP stares in disbelief as a DJ shouts into the mic.
DJ
(excitedly)
Everybody make some noise for the man who made this party possible—Donald J. Trump! May he rot in hell, y’all!
The crowd erupts into cheers, raising their glasses and laughing. People chant, “No more Trump! No more Trump!”
DONALD J. TRUMP
(horrified)
What is this? A party? For me? They’re celebrating my death?
LIL TAY
(grinning)
Hell yeah, they are. You thought people would cry? Nah, they’re popping bottles. Your “policies” fucked over half of them, and the other half just straight-up hated your guts. Congrats, Donnie—you’re a reason to celebrate.
Donald walks through the crowd, shocked. A group of BLACK PARTYGOERS clink glasses, laughing.
PARTYGOER 1
(grinning)
Remember when he said we had “nothing to lose”? Well, looks like he lost everything.
PARTYGOER 2
(laughing)
I’m just glad I don’t have to hear “very fine people on both sides” ever again.
Nearby, a group of LATINO PARTYGOERS dance with piñatas shaped like Trump’s head.
PARTYGOER 3
(mocking)
¡Mira! I thought he’d live forever, like a cockroach! Finally, we get some peace.
They smash the piñata, and candy pours out as the crowd cheers.
Donald stumbles toward a corner where a group of IMMIGRANT FAMILIES sits, smiling and toasting.
IMMIGRANT FATHER
(raising a glass)
To no more walls. No more hate. And no more Trump!
Donald shakes his head, his voice cracking.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(pleading)
No… This isn’t fair! I was tough, sure, but I was strong! They needed me! America needed me!
Lil Tay steps in front of him, smirking.
LIL TAY
(mocking)
Needed you? Bitch, they’re thriving without you. Look at this place—people are finally living. You didn’t make America great; you made it a fucking circus. Now they’re partying ‘cause the clown’s gone.
Donald stumbles onto the dance floor, where people of all races and genders are dancing to a remix of “YMCA” with new lyrics:
LYRICS
"D-O-N-A-L-D, you’re gone, and it’s okay!
We’ll build the U.S.A., without you anyway!”
Donald covers his ears, screaming.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(yelling)
Stop it! Stop this! I was a hero! I was loved!
Lil Tay pulls out her phone, recording him.
LIL TAY
(mocking)
Hero? Bruh, even your “base” is glad you’re gone. The only people who “loved” you were the ones too scared to say otherwise. Now they’re free. Guess you weren’t as “tremendous” as you thought.
INT. REPUBLICAN NATIONAL COMMITTEE - NIGHT
LIL TAY drags a reluctant DONALD J. SCROOGE through the gilded halls of the RNC HEADQUARTERS. The air is thick with the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses. A group of REPUBLICAN LEADERS, including TULSI GABBARD, TED CRUZ, LINDSEY GRAHAM, and KEVIN MCCARTHY, are gathered in a lavish conference room, toasting and chatting with relieved smiles.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(confused)
Wait… the RNC? These are my people! My team! I built this party—they owe me everything!
LIL TAY
(snorting)
Oh, shut the fuck up, Don. “Your people” couldn’t wait to ditch your ass. Let’s see what they really think now that you’re six feet under.
They stop at the doorway, and Donald peeks in. The group is laughing hysterically, champagne flowing freely.
TULSI GABBARD leans against a chair, swirling her drink. Her demeanor is relaxed, and her words are sharp.
TULSI GABBARD
(smirking)
Honestly, it feels like we’ve been released from a hostage situation. Trump’s gone, and now we can actually talk without worrying about how he’ll twist it on Twitter.
TED CRUZ
(nodding eagerly)
Oh, absolutely. I mean, I groveled like a pro, but even I have limits. Do you know how exhausting it is to pretend to respect someone who called your wife ugly?
The group erupts into laughter. DONALD J. SCROOGE clenches his fists, his face turning red.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(furious)
That lying, slimy bastard! I made him relevant! He was nothing without me!
Lil Tay leans against the doorway, scrolling through her phone.
LIL TAY
(mocking)
Oh, boo-fucking-hoo. Keep watching, Don. They’re just getting started.
LINDSEY GRAHAM clinks his glass, standing up dramatically.
LINDSEY GRAHAM
(smirking)
I mean, sure, I called him a jackass in 2016, and then I kissed his ass for four years. But hey, who didn’t? At least now I can finally sleep at night without worrying about a 3 a.m. phone call demanding loyalty.
The group laughs again, their relief palpable.
KEVIN MCCARTHY
(grinning)
Oh, you think that was bad? Try getting chewed out for not lying hard enough on Fox News. The guy expected us to go down with his sinking ship. Good riddance, I say.
Donald stomps into the room, yelling at the oblivious group.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(yelling)
Traitors! All of you! I carried this party on my back! You’d be nothing without me!
None of them notice him, and the conversation continues. TULSI GABBARD raises her glass.
TULSI GABBARD
(mocking)
Here’s to freedom—from bad spray tans, incoherent speeches, and constant ego-stroking. Cheers to that!
TED CRUZ
(laughing)
And let’s not forget the nicknames. “Lyin’ Ted”? Really? Good thing he’s gone; I was running out of forced smiles.
Donald turns to Lil Tay, his face twisted with rage and desperation.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(pleading)
Make them stop! I made them stars! I turned them into winners! They’re nothing without me—NOTHING!
Lil Tay slides her phone into her pocket, unimpressed.
LIL TAY
(mocking)
Bro, you didn’t make them stars. You turned them into fucking jesters, and now the king’s dead. They’re just happy they don’t have to kiss your bloated orange ass anymore.
Donald collapses into a chair, trembling.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(whispering)
I was the greatest. They loved me. They all loved me.
Lil Tay leans in close, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
LIL TAY
(coldly)
Nah, Don. They loved the power you gave them. You? They hated. And now? They’re finally free. Sucks to suck, huh?
She claps her hands.
INT. TRUMP TOWER - EXECUTIVE SUITE - NIGHT
LIL TAY snaps her fingers, and she and DONALD J. TRUMP appear in a luxurious conference room in Trump Tower. The room is filled with the gaudy opulence of gold-plated everything and giant portraits of Donald on the walls. IVANKA TRUMP, DONALD JR., ERIC TRUMP, MELANIA TRUMP, and JARED KUSHNER sit around a conference table, sipping champagne and scrolling on their phones. They’re dressed impeccably, but their faces are stone-cold, completely devoid of grief.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(wide-eyed)
What is this? A meeting? They’re talking about my legacy, right? My tremendous legacy?
LIL TAY
(snorting)
Oh, they’re talking about you, alright. Just not in the way you’re hoping, you orange fossil. Watch and learn how much they “care.”
IVANKA TRUMP adjusts her flawless hair and takes a delicate sip of champagne.
IVANKA TRUMP
(calmly)
Well, Daddy’s finally gone. Honestly, it’s for the best. I mean, now I can run for office without being compared to… that.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(stammering)
Run for office?! Ivanka, you’re supposed to keep my brand alive! You can’t just—this is fake. This has to be fake.
Lil Tay rolls her eyes and nudges him.
LIL TAY
(mocking)
Oh, it’s real, Donnie. Your precious princess is already plotting her next move. But wait, it gets better.
DONALD TRUMP JR. leans back in his chair, grinning smugly.
DONALD JR.
(laughing)
You know, I could totally spin this. “My father’s death inspired me to continue his legacy.” That’s a killer fundraising line. Maybe throw in some tears for Fox News. The donors’ll eat it up.
ERIC TRUMP, sitting next to him, furrows his brow, clearly confused.
ERIC TRUMP
(earnestly)
Should we, like… do a statue or something? You know, to honor him? Maybe a golf statue. With a flag. I think he’d like that.
The room falls silent for a beat before IVANKA and DON JR. burst out laughing.
IVANKA TRUMP
(mocking)
A statue? Seriously, Eric? Nobody’s building a statue.
DONALD JR.
(snickering)
Yeah, we’re not wasting money on that. The only statue he cared about was his bank balance.
MELANIA TRUMP, scrolling on her phone with an icy expression, finally looks up.
MELANIA TRUMP
(flatly)
I assume the will is being handled? I want to ensure Barron gets what he’s owed. And I’ll need a new PR team. My brand must stay separate from… this mess.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(yelling)
Melania! My brand is the reason you have a brand! What are you talking about?!
Lil Tay crosses her arms, smirking.
LIL TAY
(mocking)
Oh, Don, you thought she was gonna write you a love poem or something? Nah, she’s just here to make sure she gets her slice of the pie. You’re about as important to her as yesterday’s fake tan.
JARED KUSHNER, seated beside Ivanka, looks up from a massive stack of legal documents.
JARED KUSHNER
(calmly)
This could be a great opportunity for a legacy-building project. Maybe a “Donald J. Trump Memorial Library.” We could use it to house all the… uh… documents he left behind.
IVANKA TRUMP
(sarcastically)
A library? For Daddy? What would it have? Pictures of him in every room and a burger stand in the lobby?
DONALD JR.
(laughing)
Forget the library. Let’s just name a golf course after him and call it a day.
DONALD J. SCROOGE stares at the scene, trembling with fury.
DONALD J. SCROOGE
(yelling)
This is fake! They’re lying! They all adored me! I gave them everything! Ivanka, Melania, Eric—all of you--you wouldn’t be here without me!
Lil Tay claps sarcastically, shaking her head.
LIL TAY
(mocking)
Oh, Don, you really thought they’d cry over you? Newsflash: they were waiting for this. You were just the ATM with bad hair.
She gestures dramatically toward the family.
LIL TAY
(mocking)
Look at them. Already plotting how to spin your death into the next headline, the next dollar, the next political campaign. You’re not their king, Donnie—you’re their stepping stone.
The family toasts as they begin strategizing their next moves. Donald falls to his knees, shaking his head.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(pleading)
I was their father. Their husband. I built all of this for them! They have to care!
Lil Tay leans down, her smirk turning icy.
LIL TAY
(coldly)
Care? Nah, Don. They learned from the best—you don’t care about anyone but yourself, so why should they?
As the family continues to laugh and scheme.
INT. TRUMP TOWER - EXECUTIVE SUITE - NIGHT
The gaudy conference room is now quiet. The rest of the family has left, their scheming and laughter echoing faintly down the hallway. DONALD TRUMP JR. stands at the floor-to-ceiling window, staring out at the glittering New York City skyline. His expression is unusually somber, the reflection of the city lights dancing in his tired eyes.
In the background, ERIC TRUMP approaches, holding a half-empty champagne glass and looking confused as always.
ERIC TRUMP
(awkwardly)
Hey, Donnie, what are you doing? Everyone left. Aren’t you coming?
DONALD JR.
(quietly)
Nah. Not yet.
Eric looks around, scratching his head, before hesitantly joining Don Jr. at the window. He fidgets with the glass, waiting for Don Jr. to say something.
ERIC TRUMP
(curious)
You okay? You’re acting… weird. Like, serious weird. Not normal Don weird.
DONALD JR.
(sighing)
You ever think about it, Eric? All this… the gold, the deals, the fake love. It was never enough for him.
Eric tilts his head, confused.
ERIC TRUMP
(clueless)
Enough? What are you talking about? Dad loved us. I mean, he said so. Didn’t he?
Don Jr. turns to him, his face a mix of frustration and sadness.
DONALD JR.
(shaking his head)
No, Eric. He didn’t. Not really. He loved himself. The brand. The power. We were just… tools. Props for the show. I spent my whole life trying to prove I could be like him—better than him—and what did it get me?
Eric frowns, trying to process.
ERIC TRUMP
(earnestly)
Uh… a lot of money? A seat at the board? I mean, we’re doing okay, right?
DONALD JR.
(snapping)
That’s not the point! I wanted his approval. I wanted him to look at me and say, “Don, you did good.” But no matter what I did, it was never enough.
Eric stares at his brother, finally understanding the weight of his words. He looks back out at the city, his usual cluelessness fading into rare seriousness.
ERIC TRUMP
(quietly)
Yeah. I guess… I guess I tried too. I always thought if I just worked harder, made him laugh, maybe he’d be proud of me. But he was always too busy. Or yelling about something. Or tweeting.
Don Jr. smirks, letting out a bitter laugh.
DONALD JR.
(mocking)
“Best dad ever,” huh? He didn’t even know our birthdays half the time. But you know what? He’s gone now. And we’ve got no one left but each other.
Eric nods slowly, staring out into the night.
ERIC TRUMP
(softly)
Just us. No Dad. No Melania. Just… us.
Don Jr. claps him on the shoulder, his smirk softening into something resembling affection.
DONALD JR.
(grinning faintly)
Don’t get all emotional on me, Eric. We’ll figure it out. We’ve been cleaning up his messes for years. What’s one more?
Eric chuckles nervously, glancing at his brother.
ERIC TRUMP
(half-joking)
Yeah, I guess I’m stuck with you now, huh?
The scene freezes as LIL TAY and DONALD J. SCROOGE watch from the corner of the room. Lil Tay leans against the wall, her arms crossed, grinning.
LIL TAY
(mocking)
Wow. Even your kids know you were full of shit. They spent their whole lives chasing your approval, Donnie, and all they got was disappointment and daddy issues.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(yelling)
That’s not true! They adored me! They’ll carry on my legacy! They’ll—!
LIL TAY
(cutting him off)
Legacy? Bruh, your “legacy” is them sitting around trying to figure out how to scrape some meaning out of your dumpster fire of a life. Congrats—you didn’t raise a family. You raised a reality show cast.
Donald falls silent, staring at his sons at the window.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(whispering)
I… I thought they loved me.
LIL TAY
(mocking)
They loved the idea of you. But the real you? The narcissist who cared more about polls and gold toilets than his own kids? Yeah, not so much.
She snaps her fingers, and the scene dissolves, leaving Donald alone in the void, his children’s voices echoing faintly.
INT. DIMLY LIT BASEMENT - NIGHT
The scene opens in a dimly lit basement where a group of NAZIS and WHITE SUPREMACISTS are gathered around a table. Swastika banners hang on the walls, and a speaker is at the front of the room giving a eulogy that’s half hate speech and half delusional praise. The air reeks of beer and self-importance. LIL TAY, the Ghost of Rich Dudes Future, snaps her fingers and brings DONALD J. TRUMP into the scene.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(confused)
What is this? Some kind of secret society? Are these my supporters?
LIL TAY
(grinning)
Oh yeah, Donnie. These are your die-hard fans. The only people actually bummed you kicked the bucket. Real pillars of society, huh?
Donald puffs up his chest, looking around smugly.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(smirking)
See? I told you. People loved me. Even in death, I’m still a legend.
LIL TAY
(mocking)
Legend? Bro, these clowns aren’t crying over you. They’re crying ‘cause they’ve got no one left to tweet dumb shit they can rally behind.
At the front of the room, a NAZI LEADER, a caricature of unhinged zealotry, slams his fist on the podium, his voice dripping with faux reverence.
NAZI LEADER
(dramatically)
Brothers, we have lost our beacon of strength! A man who wasn’t afraid to say it like it is and make the world uncomfortable with his brilliance! Donald J. Trump was a hero to our cause—a true inspiration to us all!
The crowd cheers, raising their beer cans in a disorganized salute.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(beaming)
You hear that? A hero! They get it. These are my people.
Lil Tay stares at him, disgusted.
LIL TAY
(snapping)
Your people? Donnie, they’re literally Nazis. This isn’t a flex, bro.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(shrugging)
Look, a fan is a fan. You can’t control who loves you.
LIL TAY
(mocking)
Oh, they don’t just “love” you. They worship you. But hey, let’s hear what else they’ve got to say.
Another SUPREMACIST, wearing an ill-fitting suit and a MAGA hat, stands up, his voice trembling with anger.
SUPREMACIST
(yelling)
Without Trump, who will stand up to the woke mob?! Who will fight for us against the globalist cabal?!
The group murmurs in agreement, banging the table. A third man, wiping tears from his eyes, chimes in.
TEARFUL NAZI
(sniffling)
He gave us hope. He said the things we couldn’t say out loud anymore. Now we’re all alone.
NAZI LEADER
(nodding)
But fear not, brothers! We will carry on his legacy! We will—what’s the word?—“Trump” the opposition!
The group bursts into laughter at the terrible pun, their cheers echoing in the room.
Donald turns to Lil Tay, his smug grin firmly in place.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(smugly)
See? My legacy lives on. These people are loyal. They respect me. They’re inspired by me.
Lil Tay facepalms, groaning loudly.
LIL TAY
(yelling)
Inspired?! Don, they’re literally just racist losers who miss you because you gave them the green light to be shitty in public! This isn’t a win! This is a clown show!
Donald waves her off dismissively.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(shrugging)
Say what you want, but loyalty is loyalty.
Lil Tay glares at him, stepping in front of the table of Nazis.
LIL TAY
(yelling)
Loyalty? Bro, these guys would ditch you in a second if someone louder came along. You didn’t build a legacy—you built a dumpster fire, and these are the rats living in it.
The Nazis don’t hear her, too busy drunkenly chanting.
NAZIS
(chanting)
Trump! Trump! Trump!
Lil Tay turns back to Donald, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
LIL TAY
(mocking)
Wow, what a legacy. A bunch of drunk idiots in a basement chanting your name while the rest of the world moves on. Congrats, Donnie. You did it.
One of the Nazis raises his beer can high, slurring his words.
DRUNK NAZI
(yelling)
To Trump! May his spirit live on in all of us!
The group cheers as the beer can spills, catching fire from a nearby torch. Chaos erupts as the Nazis scramble to put out the flames, knocking over chairs and banners.
LIL TAY
(mocking)
Oh yeah, Don, these are the masterminds who’ll carry on your “brilliant” legacy. Real geniuses here.
The scene freezes as Donald stares at the chaotic room, his expression finally faltering.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(softly)
But… someone has to care. Someone who mattered. Someone important.
LIL TAY
(grinning)
Nope. All you got is this clown parade, Donnie. You didn’t inspire leaders—you inspired losers. And when they’re done with your name, they’ll move on to the next grift.
As the scene dissolves into darkness, the faint sound of chanting echoes: “Trump! Trump! Trump!” It fades into a pathetic whimper as Donald looks on, shaken.
EXT. A CEMETERY - NIGHT
The snow falls gently, blanketing rows of tombstones in the dim moonlight. LIL TAY stands beside a massive gravestone with her arms crossed. DONALD J. SCROOGE shuffles nervously behind her, his golden robe dragging through the snow.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(shivering)
A cemetery? Really? This is how you end the tour? Cliché. Nobody respects creativity anymore.
LIL TAY
(snapping)
Shut the fuck up, Don. This is your grand finale. You’ve been bullshitting your way through life, and now you get to see where it ends. Spoiler alert: it ain’t Mar-a-Lago.
She gestures toward a HUGE, UNMARKED GRAVE, surrounded by wilted flowers. The air around it feels colder, heavier.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(nervous)
What is this? Whose grave is that? It’s not mine—it can’t be mine.
Lil Tay pulls out a wad of cash, fanning it dramatically.
LIL TAY
(mocking)
Let’s find out, shall we? Time to pull back the curtain, Wizard of Bullshit.
She snaps her fingers, and the SNOW MELTS AWAY from the gravestone, revealing DONALD J. TRUMP's name etched in giant letters. Below it, only the MONTH OF DEATH is visible: DECEMBER.
Donald stumbles backward, shaking his head.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(pleading)
No! December? That’s not enough time! I need more time! I—I can change! I’ll be better, I promise!
Lil Tay laughs, leaning casually against the gravestone.
LIL TAY
(mocking)
Better? You couldn’t even spell “better” without autocorrect. Gimme a break, Donnie. You’ve been a selfish piece of shit your whole life. Why the fuck would I believe you now?
Donald drops to his knees, clawing at the snow.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(sobbing)
Please, I’ll change! I’ll be kind! I’ll help the poor, protect the planet—whatever you want! Just tell me what day it is!
Lil Tay smirks, snapping her fingers again. The DAY OF DEATH is revealed: DECEMBER 25th.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(shrieking)
Christmas?! I die on Christmas?! That’s not fair—it’s MY holiday! People love my Christmas tweets!
LIL TAY
(laughing hysterically)
Oh my fucking God, you’re killing me, Don. You’re not even pissed that you’re dying—you’re pissed about branding. Typical.
Donald grabs her by the sleeve, tears streaming down his face.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(pleading)
Please, Lil Tay. I’ll change. I’ll be generous. I’ll build schools instead of walls. I’ll stop tweeting at 3 a.m.! Just don’t let it end like this!
Suddenly, the GROUND RUMBLES, and a GIANT COFFIN rises out of the grave. Its golden lid creaks open, revealing a plush, red interior. The sound of mocking laughter echoes from within.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(screaming)
No! This isn’t real! This can’t be real!
Lil Tay steps behind him, giving him a hard shove toward the open coffin.
LIL TAY
(mocking)
Oh, it’s real, Donnie. And guess what? You’re the VIP guest. Front row to your own bullshit legacy. Climb in, bitch.
Donald clutches the edge of the coffin, his knuckles white.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(begging)
Please! I’ll fix everything! I’ll undo the damage! I’ll make America great—for everyone!
Lil Tay stops, tilting her head as if considering his words.
LIL TAY
(mocking)
Yeah, nah. I don’t buy it. You’ve been saying the same shit your whole life. “I’ll change, I’ll do better.” Blah, blah, blah. Spoiler alert: you don’t.
She raises her foot and kicks him squarely in the chest. Donald TUMBLES INTO THE COFFIN, screaming as the lid SLAMS SHUT.
The coffin begins to sink into the grave as Donald’s muffled screams grow louder.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(inside the coffin)
I’ll do it! I’ll be good! I’ll—!
The grave seals itself, leaving the cemetery silent once more. Lil Tay stands over it, smirking.
LIL TAY
(mocking) Too little, too fucking late, Donnie. Merry Christmas, asshole.
She pulls out her phone, snaps a selfie with the gravestone, and vanishes into a cloud of neon smoke.
INT. WHITE HOUSE BEDROOM - MORNING
DONALD J. TRUMP jolts awake in his gold-trimmed bed, sweating and gasping for air. His hair is disheveled, and his tie is still on from the night before. He looks around, frantically touching his face and checking his surroundings.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(gasping)
I’m alive! It was all a dream! Or a hoax! Tremendous hoax! But I’m here, back in the White House, where I belong.
He leaps out of bed and stumbles to the WINDOW, throwing open the curtains. Outside, A GARDENER, dressed in a green uniform, is trimming the rose bushes.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(yelling out the window)
Hey! You! The guy with the shears! What day is it?
The gardener, startled, looks up cautiously.
GARDENER
(nervously)
Uh... it’s Christmas, sir. December 25th.
Donald’s face lights up with giddy excitement, and he claps his hands together.
DONALD J. SCROOGE
(ecstatic)
Christmas! It’s Christmas! I still have time to change everything! Tremendous timing. Incredible!
The gardener looks at him warily, unsure of what’s happening.
GARDENER
(hesitant)
Are you… okay, Mr. President?
Donald leans out the window, beaming.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(smiling)
What’s your name, friend? And—wait a second—are you a U.S. citizen?
The gardener freezes, his face draining of color. He starts stammering.
GARDENER
(panicking)
Uh, y-yes! Absolutely! Legally here! Papers are in order, I swear!
Donald waves his hands dismissively, laughing.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(grinning)
Relax, relax! I don’t care about that anymore. I’m turning over a new leaf. A huge, beautiful leaf. Listen, I’m going to make you a deal—better than any deal I’ve ever made.
The gardener takes a cautious step back, still clutching his shears.
GARDENER
(confused)
A deal? What kind of deal?
Donald points dramatically at the gardener.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(declaring)
Full U.S. citizenship! For you, your family—your whole family tree! All of it. Done. Tremendous. You’ll never have to worry about ICE again.
The gardener drops his shears, staring up at Donald in disbelief.
GARDENER
(stammering)
W-wait… are you serious?
Donald puffs out his chest, clearly proud of himself.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(smugly)
Of course I’m serious! Nobody gives better citizenship than me. Everyone says so. And you—look at you, out here on Christmas, working hard. You deserve it.
The gardener blinks, still unsure if he’s being pranked.
GARDENER
(carefully)
Uh… thank you? I mean, wow, thank you, sir! This is… incredible! My wife, my kids—they won’t believe this.
The gardener picks up his shears, shaking his head in amazement.
GARDENER
(muttering)
I can’t believe it… You’re really serious?
Donald leans further out the window, grinning ear to ear.
DONALD J. SCROOGE
(booming)
Of course I’m serious! It’s Christmas! Everyone deserves a gift, even the little people. Now go tell your family. And if anyone asks, tell them Donald J. Trump is the greatest president you’ve ever had.
The gardener nods slowly, a mixture of gratitude and confusion on his face.
GARDENER
(hesitant)
Uh… sure. Greatest president. Got it.
Donald pulls back from the window, his face glowing with pride.
DONALD J. TRUMP paces around the gold-laden bedroom, mumbling to himself about his newfound generosity. Suddenly, the door creaks open, and MELANIA TRUMP enters, her usual icy composure intact. She’s dressed impeccably in a silk robe, her expression indifferent as she scrolls through her phone.
MELANIA TRUMP
(flatly)
Donald, why are you yelling so much? You woke me up. Again.
Donald looks up, his face lighting up with childlike excitement. He rushes toward her with open arms.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(beaming)
Melania! My darling! My gorgeous, tremendous wife!
MELANIA TRUMP
(blinking, confused)
Are you… feeling okay? Did you eat too many cheeseburgers again?
Before Melania can say another word, Donald sweeps her into a big, awkward hug. She stiffens, completely caught off guard, her phone dangling awkwardly in her hand.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(gushing)
Oh, Melania! I just realized how much I’ve taken you for granted. You’re amazing, incredible, the best First Lady this country’s ever seen. Believe me!
He plants a big, overly enthusiastic kiss on her cheek. Melania’s eyes widen in shock, and she freezes like a deer in headlights.
MELANIA TRUMP
(stammering)
What… what are you doing? You haven’t hugged me since… since the campaign trail.
Donald pulls back, still holding her shoulders, his grin unwavering.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(excitedly)
That was the old me! The new me appreciates you. You’re not just my wife—you’re my queen. My Christmas miracle.
Melania tilts her head, studying him suspiciously.
MELANIA TRUMP
(skeptical)
Did you hit your head? Or is this one of your reality show ideas? If cameras are hiding, I want to know now.
Donald laughs, waving off her concerns.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(chuckling)
No cameras, Melania. Just me. Real, genuine me. I’m a changed man. From now on, I’m going to treat you like the diamond you are. Better than diamonds—better than gold!
Melania narrows her eyes, still wary.
MELANIA TRUMP
(sarcastic)
Better than gold? Is that why you wanted a prenup… in gold ink?
Donald fidgets awkwardly for a moment before dismissing the question with a wave.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(quickly)
Forget about that! Focus on the now. The new me. You’ll love it. Trust me—tremendous improvement.
She pulls away slightly, crossing her arms, her face a mix of disbelief and curiosity.
MELANIA TRUMP
(flatly)
Okay. Prove it. What do you want from me? Why are you acting so… nice?
Donald clutches his chest dramatically, looking hurt.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(offended)
Want? I don’t want anything! I’m just overwhelmed by how wonderful you are. You’ve put up with so much—my tweets, my rallies, the fake news—and you’ve stayed strong. You deserve better from me, and I’m going to give it to you.
Melania blinks, still processing, then lets out a slight chuckle.
MELANIA TRUMP
(dryly)
Hmm. Okay, Donald. If you are serious, maybe start with remembering our anniversary. Or my birthday. Small steps, yes?
Donald laughs nervously, scratching his head.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(awkwardly)
Of course! Easy! I’ve got both of those memorized. (pausing) Remind me later just to double-check, okay?
Melania finally cracks a faint smile, shaking her head.
MELANIA TRUMP
(sighing)
Fine. I’ll give this… “new you” a chance. But if you mess it up, I’ll go back to ignoring you. Understand?
Donald nods eagerly, clasping her hands dramatically.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(grinning)
Understood, my love! You won’t regret it. This is going to be the best Christmas ever. Believe me.
Melania pats his cheek lightly, her expression softening ever so slightly.
MELANIA TRUMP
(teasing)
We’ll see, Donald. We’ll see.
As she walks away, Donald stands there, looking utterly pleased with himself.
INT. WHITE HOUSE BEDROOM - MORNING
DONALD J. TRUMP, energized and brimming with his newfound Christmas spirit, sits on the edge of his gold-trimmed bed, furiously punching numbers into his oversized, diamond-encrusted smartphone. He’s dialing ALEXANDRIA OCASIO-CORTEZ. The phone rings, and he waits impatiently.
INT. AOC’S APARTMENT - MORNING
ALEXANDRIA OCASIO-CORTEZ wearing casual clothes and sipping her morning coffee, stares at her ringing phone in disbelief. The caller ID reads: “Donald J. Trump - White House”.
ALEXANDRIA OCASIO-CORTEZ
(to herself)
No way. No freaking way.
She hesitates, then answers cautiously.
ALEXANDRIA OCASIO-CORTEZ
(suspiciously)
Hello? This is… Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(excitedly)
Alexandria! It’s me, Trump. The Donald. You know, the best president ever. Believe me, nobody’s better.
ALEXANDRIA OCASIO-CORTEZ
(confused)
Uh… okay? What’s this about? Did someone put you up to this?
DONALD J. TRUMP
(laughing)
No, no! This is real. Listen, I’ve been thinking—big thoughts, tremendous thoughts—and I’ve decided I’m gonna make Mike Johnson pass your New Green Deal. Huge, right? Merry Christmas!
ALEXANDRIA OCASIO-CORTEZ
(in disbelief)
Wait… what? You’re calling me, on Christmas, to say you’re backing the Green New Deal? You? The same guy who called me “a bartender socialist”?
DONALD J. TRUMP
(waving it off)
Fake news! Okay, maybe I said some stuff, but that was the old me. This is the new me. I care about the planet now. Big time. Trees, water, windmills—I love it all.
ALEXANDRIA OCASIO-CORTEZ
(skeptical)
You? Love windmills? Didn’t you call them “bird-killing disasters”?
DONALD J. TRUMP
(quickly)
I might’ve said that, but who hasn’t made a mistake? Look, the point is, I’m making it happen. Mike Johnson will get it done. He does whatever I say. Trust me.
ALEXANDRIA OCASIO-CORTEZ leans back in her chair, squinting at her phone like it might explode.
ALEXANDRIA OCASIO-CORTEZ
(suspiciously)
Is this some kind of prank? Because if it is, it’s not funny. Did Elon put you up to this?
DONALD J. TRUMP
(grinning)
Elon wishes he could think this big! No, Alexandria, this is legit. I’m all-in on clean energy now. Solar panels, electric cars—huge stuff. I might even get a Tesla.
ALEXANDRIA OCASIO-CORTEZ
(deadpan)
You do realize the Green New Deal is about way more than Tesla, right?
DONALD J. SCROOGE
(waving it off)
Yeah, yeah, details. Don’t bore me with the small stuff. Just know it’s gonna happen. And when it does, I want my name on it. Call it the “Trump Green Deal.” Tremendous branding.
ALEXANDRIA OCASIO-CORTEZ pinches the bridge of her nose, still trying to process the bizarre call.
ALEXANDRIA OCASIO-CORTEZ
(sarcastically)
So, let me get this straight—you’re calling me, out of the blue, to say you’ll personally push the Green New Deal through Congress because… what? You had a sudden epiphany?
DONALD J. SCROOGE
(excitedly)
Exactly! You’re a smart one, Alexandria. Tremendous brain. That’s why I’m calling you. Together, we’ll save the planet. Maybe even win a Nobel Prize. Imagine that—Trump and AOC, Nobel winners! People will love it.
ALEXANDRIA OCASIO-CORTEZ
(dryly)
Uh-huh. Right. And I’m supposed to believe this isn’t some kind of elaborate stunt?
DONALD J. TRUMP
(grinning)
Stunt? No way. This is me being generous. Huge Christmas spirit over here. Now, do you want the deal or not?
ALEXANDRIA OCASIO-CORTEZ leans forward, smirking slightly as she shakes her head.
ALEXANDRIA OCASIO-CORTEZ
(mocking)
You know what, Mr. President? Sure. If you can get Mike Johnson to pass the Green New Deal, I’ll believe pigs can fly. But until then, I’m gonna hang up and pretend this conversation didn’t happen.
DONALD J. SCROOGE
(smugly)
You’ll see, Alexandria! I’m making history here. Best deal ever. You’ll be thanking me on national TV—guaranteed!
ALEXANDRIA OCASIO-CORTEZ
(sighing)
Okay, sure. Merry Christmas, I guess.
She hangs up, shaking her head in disbelief. Donald sits back in his chair, grinning from ear to ear.
INT. WHITE HOUSE BEDROOM - MORNING
DONALD J. SCROOGE, still high on his newfound Christmas spirit, flips through his phone contacts. His finger hovers over a name for a moment: VLADIMIR PUTIN. His expression hardens with uncharacteristic resolve.
He taps the name and hits CALL. The phone rings ominously before a deep, measured voice answers.
INT. KREMLIN OFFICE - MORNING
VLADIMIR PUTIN, seated at an absurdly long table in a cavernous, dimly lit room, picks up the phone. His face is calm but calculating.
PUTIN
(smoothly)
Ah, Mr. Trump. What a surprise. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?
DONALD J. TRUMP
(grinning smugly)
Vlad, baby, it’s me—Trump. The big guy. The greatest. You know the one.
PUTIN
(dryly)
Yes, I remember. What is it you want? Another tower deal? Some more… advice on “strong leadership”?
DONALD J. TRUMP
(snapping)
No, no more deals, no more advice. I’ve had enough. I’ve been thinking—big thoughts, tremendous thoughts—and I realized something, Vlad. You’ve been playing me. But not anymore.
Putin’s eyebrow twitches ever so slightly, his tone growing colder.
PUTIN
(icily)
Playing you? I don’t understand. We’ve always had a mutually beneficial relationship.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(yelling)
Mutually beneficial? Are you kidding me? You got everything—you meddled, you schemed, you walked all over me while I got blamed for everything. Well, guess what, Vlad? It’s over. Done. Finito.
Putin leans back in his chair, narrowing his eyes.
PUTIN
(calmly)
You are emotional today, Donald. Perhaps you need to take a moment to reconsider your tone.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(smirking)
Oh, I’ve reconsidered, alright. I’ve reconsidered you. So here’s what I have to say, straight from my tremendous American heart: go fuck yourself.
Putin freezes for a moment, the silence on his end deafening. Even the Kremlin guards outside the door glance nervously at each other.
PUTIN
(sharply)
What did you say?
DONALD J. SCROOGE
(grinning)
You heard me, Vlad. G-O F-U-C-K Y-O-U. Go fuck yourself. No more favors, no more calls, no more pretending we’re buddies. America first, baby. And you? You’re on your own.
Putin grips the phone tightly, his calm demeanor cracking slightly.
PUTIN
(darkly)
You are making a grave mistake, Donald. You do not speak to me this way. There will be consequences.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(laughing)
Consequences? Ha! Bring it on. I’ve faced tougher guys than you. Besides, I’m a new man now. Tremendous man. And new me doesn’t take orders from shirtless dictators.
Without waiting for a response, Donald slams the END CALL button and tosses the phone onto the bed. He looks at himself in the mirror, adjusting his tie and smiling smugly.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(to himself)
Nailed it. Nobody tells Putin off like me. Believe me.
INT. WHITE HOUSE BEDROOM - MORNING
DONALD J. TRUMP, freshly invigorated by his newfound Christmas spirit, paces back and forth, flipping through his contacts. His eyes land on the name: "BERNIE SANDERS". With a smug grin, he taps CALL.
INT. BERNIE SANDERS’ VERMONT CABIN - MORNING
BERNIE SANDERS, bundled up in a heavy cardigan, sits at a small wooden table surrounded by stacks of papers and mugs of cold coffee. His landline rings, and he picks it up, squinting at the caller ID.
BERNIE SANDERS
(grumbling)
"Donald J. Trump"? What in the name of FDR’s wheelchair is this?
He answers cautiously.
BERNIE SANDERS
(suspiciously)
Hello? This is Bernie Sanders. What do you want, Trump? Another tax break for billionaires?
DONALD J. TRUMP
(enthusiastically)
Bernie! It’s me—Trump! The big guy! The best president, tremendous, really. I’ve got some great news for you. YUGE news.
BERNIE SANDERS
(deadpan)
Oh, I can’t wait to hear this. What is it, Donald? Did you finally decide to read a book?
DONALD J. SCROOGE
(ignoring him)
Better than that. I’ve been doing some thinking—big thoughts, tremendous thoughts—and I’ve decided: I’m signing universal healthcare. Medicare for All. The whole thing. Plus, I’m raising the minimum wage and taxing the rich. Incredible, right?
BERNIE SANDERS
(in disbelief)
...What?
Bernie adjusts his glasses, blinking rapidly as if he misheard.
BERNIE SANDERS
(slowly)
Did you just say… universal healthcare? Minimum wage increase? Tax the rich? From you?
DONALD J. TRUMP
(proudly)
That’s right, Bernie. The whole package. Everyone’s getting it. Doctors, nurses, plumbers, people who make the best burgers—everyone. Tremendous healthcare. Nobody does healthcare like me.
Bernie pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering to himself.
BERNIE SANDERS
(grumbling)
Either I’ve gone senile, or you have. Maybe both. Universal healthcare? You? The guy who said Obamacare was a disaster?
DONALD J. TRUMP
(waving it off)
Fake news, Bernie! I never said that—well, okay, maybe I did, but this is different. It’s Christmas. Everyone deserves a gift, and I’m giving them the biggest, most tremendous gift ever: free healthcare.
Bernie leans back in his chair, arms crossed.
BERNIE SANDERS
(suspiciously)
Alright, Trump. What’s the catch? Are you planning to slap your name on it? "Trumpcare for All"? "The Bigly Health Plan"?
DONALD J. TRUMP
(grinning)
Hey, not a bad idea! But no, no catch. This is from the heart, Bernie. The new me. I care about the little guy now. I’m basically Santa Claus, but richer.
BERNIE SANDERS
(muttering)
And dumber. Look, I don’t trust you, Donald. You’ve spent years demonizing every policy I’ve proposed. Why the sudden change of heart?
DONALD J. TRUMP
(seriously)
Let’s just say I’ve seen the light, Bernie. Big, tremendous light. I can’t go into details, but let’s just say some ghosts might’ve been involved. Very persuasive ghosts.
Bernie rubs his temples, still trying to process.
BERNIE SANDERS
(sighing)
Alright, Trump. If you’re serious—and I mean serious--about this, I’ll believe it when I see the bill on my desk. But don’t think for one second I’m falling for some half-baked stunt.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(grinning)
You’ll see, Bernie. It’s happening. This is real. Tremendous stuff. And hey, when this works, maybe you can thank me during your next speech. Call it bipartisan greatness.
BERNIE SANDERS
(deadpan)
Sure, I’ll thank you right after pigs fly and you apologize for that "crazy Bernie" nonsense.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(laughing)
Ha! Fair enough. Merry Christmas, Bernie. Don’t forget to tell your socialist buddies: Trump’s saving America.
Bernie shakes his head, muttering as he hangs up.
BERNIE SANDERS
(to himself)
Either he’s lost his mind, or I’m in a fever dream. Either way, I need more coffee.
Donald leans back in his chair, smiling smugly.
INT. WHITE HOUSE BEDROOM - MORNING
DONALD J. TRUMP bursts out of his closet, wearing a too-festive red-and-green suit that looks like it was stolen from an elf. MELANIA TRUMP, sitting on the bed scrolling through her phone, looks up with her usual icy expression, already bracing for whatever bizarre announcement is coming.
MELANIA TRUMP
(flatly)
What are you wearing, Donald? You look like a Christmas tree threw up on you.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(grinning)
It’s Christmas, Melania! The season of giving, joy, and spending time with family. Speaking of which, we’re going to Jared and Ivanka’s today. Big plans. Tremendous plans!
Melania’s face freezes mid-scroll, her eyes narrowing.
MELANIA TRUMP
(skeptical)
Jared? You hate Jared. Last week you called him a "low-energy blockhead." Now you want to spend Christmas with him?
Donald waves dismissively, his grin unwavering.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(cheerfully)
Hate? I never hated Jared! Fake news, Melania. Tremendous guy. Smart, hardworking, definitely not annoying at all. Today, we’re spreading love. Christmas love.
MELANIA TRUMP
(deadpan)
Did you hit your head again? Or is this part of your “new you” thing?
DONALD J. TRUMP
(laughing)
It’s called growth, Melania. Big changes. Huge changes. Jared’s basically family. Well, he is family, but now I actually like him. Let’s go!
INT. WHITE HOUSE HALLWAY - MORNING
Donald marches through the gold-trimmed hallways, dragging Melania along as she reluctantly follows. They approach SUSIE WILES, Trump’s Chief of Staff, who is busy organizing a pile of paperwork and trying not to look visibly stressed.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(booming) Susie! Stop everything! Tremendous news—take the rest of the day off. Go celebrate Christmas. Spend time with your family. Or go shopping. Whatever people do.
SUSIE WILES
(stammering)
Wait, what? Sir, there’s a full schedule—meetings, calls, the usual tweets you dictate…
DONALD J. TRUMP
(interrupting)
Forget it! It’s Christmas! Everyone gets a raise, by the way. Huge raises. The best raises. Tell the staff they’ve got the greatest boss ever.
Susie blinks in confusion, unsure if she’s dreaming.
SUSIE WILES
(hesitant)
Raises? All of them? Even Jerry in accounting?
DONALD J. TRUMP
(grinning)
Especially Jerry! Love that guy. Give him double. Merry Christmas, Susie!
As Susie stumbles away, looking dazed but grateful, Melania grabs Donald’s arm, pulling him aside.
MELANIA TRUMP
(whispering)
Are you sure you’re okay? First Jared, now giving everyone raises? You haven’t done anything like this in… ever.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(dramatic)
Melania, it’s Christmas! The new me is all about generosity. Love. Family. I’m like Santa Claus, but better-looking and richer. Believe me, this is the start of something huge.
MELANIA TRUMP
(sarcastically)
So, you’re nice now. What’s next? Giving the gardener a Tesla?
DONALD J. TRUMP
(thoughtfully)
Not a bad idea. Make a note of that.
Melania rolls her eyes, muttering under her breath as Donald marches confidently toward the exit.
MELANIA TRUMP
(muttering)
This is either the Christmas miracle or a very expensive breakdown.
EXT. WHITE HOUSE DRIVEWAY - DAY
Donald gestures grandly at the waiting motorcade, practically skipping toward the car.
DONALD J. SCROOGE
(yelling) Off to Jared and Ivanka’s! Let’s go! Big day ahead, Melania. Tremendous day.
Melania sighs as she steps into the car, still shaking her head.
MELANIA TRUMP
(flatly)
Merry Christmas, Donald. Let’s hope this “new you” lasts more than one day.
Donald flashes a big grin, oblivious to her skepticism.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(cheerfully)
Oh, it’s gonna last, believe me. Nobody does Christmas like me. Nobody.
INT. JARED AND IVANKA’S LUXURY APARTMENT - NEW YORK CITY - NIGHT
The apartment is decked out in extravagant Christmas decor, with a towering tree draped in gold and silver ornaments, flanked by a menorah for good measure. JARED KUSHNER stands awkwardly near the hors d'oeuvres table, nervously adjusting his tie, while IVANKA TRUMP mingles with guests, exuding her usual polished composure.
The room is buzzing with chatter from DONALD JR., ERIC TRUMP, and the rest of the TRUMP FAMILY, but suddenly, the FRONT DOORS BURST OPEN. All heads turn as DONALD J. TRUMP and MELANIA TRUMP enter.
Donald is still wearing his ridiculous red-and-green suit, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. The room goes silent, every jaw dropping in disbelief.
IVANKA TRUMP
(blinking)
Daddy? What are you doing here?
JARED KUSHNER
(whispering to Ivanka)
He said he hated me. Last time we spoke, he called me “Ivanka’s pet sloth.”
IVANKA TRUMP
(whispering back)
Shh! Let’s see where this goes.
Donald strides into the room, spreading his arms wide.
DONALD J. SCROOGE
(booming)
Merry Christmas, everyone! Your favorite president has arrived. Tremendous party, by the way—love the tree. Great menorah too. Very inclusive.
The family stares, stunned into silence. Even DONALD JR. and ERIC stop mid-conversation, their usual bravado replaced by genuine confusion.
Donald turns to DONALD JR. and ERIC, his expression softening. He takes a deep breath, visibly nervous.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(earnestly)
Donnie, Eric—I need to tell you something. I’ve been thinking a lot. Big thoughts. Tremendous thoughts. And I realized... I’ve never told you how much I appreciate you both.
DONALD JR.
(blinking)
Wait... what?
ERIC TRUMP
(confused)
Appreciate? Us? Are you feeling okay, Dad?
Donald steps closer, placing a hand on each of their shoulders.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(sincerely)
I love you. Both of you. You’re my boys. My legacy. And I’m proud of you—well, mostly proud. But the point is, I love you. Tremendously.
DONALD JR.
(choking up)
You… you love us?
ERIC TRUMP
(tearing up)
Proud? Like, really proud? Not sarcastically?
Donald nods, his grin softening.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(nodding)
Really proud. Really love you. I mean it.
Overcome with emotion, DONALD JR. and ERIC look at each other, then at their father. They step forward hesitantly before pulling him into a big, awkward group hug.
DONALD JR.
(sniffling)
I’ve been waiting my whole life to hear that, Dad. Whole life.
ERIC TRUMP
(sobbing)
Me too! I thought you just liked Donnie more because he tweets like you.
Donald laughs, patting them both on the back.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(chuckling)
Nonsense. You’re both tremendous in your own ways. Donnie with the business, Eric with… whatever it is you do.
Eric wipes a tear, nodding fervently.
ERIC TRUMP
(smiling)
That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.
The room watches, stunned. Even IVANKA blinks back tears, her hand over her heart.
IVANKA TRUMP
(softly)
I can’t believe it. Daddy’s… human?
JARED KUSHNER
(whispering)
Either that or this is a publicity stunt. Should I start filming?
MELANIA TRUMP
(dryly) No need. He’ll tweet about it later.
The hug finally breaks, and Donald turns to the room, spreading his arms wide again.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(booming)
Now, who’s ready for some tremendous Christmas cheer? Jared, great party. Love what you’ve done with the place. You’re doing great work. Amazing work. Best son-in-law I’ve ever had.
Jared’s jaw drops as Ivanka smirks, clearly enjoying the moment.
JARED KUSHNER
(muttering)
He’s never said anything nice about me in six years. What’s happening?
INT. JARED AND IVANKA’S DINING ROOM - NIGHT
The dining room is a spectacle of opulence. A massive gold and crystal chandelier hangs above an absurdly long table, draped with red-and-green silk and decorated with festive centerpieces. At the center of it all sits a glorious Christmas ham, glistening under the chandelier like it’s auditioning for a magazine cover.
DONALD J. TRUMP stands at the head of the table, wearing an apron that says “Make Christmas Great Again,” brandishing a ridiculously oversized carving knife. The TRUMP FAMILY, including MELANIA, IVANKA, JARED, DONALD JR., ERIC, and even BARRON, sit around the table, watching in a mix of amusement and disbelief.
DONALD J. TRUMP(grinning) Alright, everyone. It’s carving time. Nobody carves a ham better than me. Tremendous skill with a knife—ask anyone.
IVANKA TRUMP
(smirking)
Daddy, you’ve never carved a ham in your life.
DONALD J. SCROOGE
(waving her off)
Fake news. I carved the best ham at Mar-a-Lago in ’98. People still talk about it. Huge success.
Donald dramatically raises the knife like he’s about to knight the ham.
Donald finishes carving and hands out plates to everyone, beaming with pride.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(grinning)
There you go, folks. Best ham you’ve ever had. Enjoy. And don’t forget—this is all because of me. Tremendous hosting skills.
The family digs in, and for a moment, the room is filled with the sound of clinking silverware and murmurs of approval.
BARRON TRUMP, sitting quietly at the far end of the table, finally speaks up.
BARRON TRUMP
(muttering)
It’s actually… good.
Donald’s face lights up as if he just won another election.
DONALD J. TRUMP
(excitedly)
You hear that? Barron likes it! That’s practically a Michelin star in this family.
As the meal continues, the family starts to relax, laughing and sharing stories. Even Jared manages a small smile as Donald regales them with exaggerated tales of his “best Christmases ever.”
DONALD J. TRUMP
(raising his glass)
To family, to love, and to making Christmas great again! Best day ever. Believe me.
The family raises their glasses, clinking them together in a rare moment of unity. MELANIA, watching from the side, smirks slightly and takes another sip of wine.
MELANIA TRUMP
(to herself)
Maybe he really has changed. Or maybe it’s the ham.
As the camera pans out, the sound of laughter and holiday cheer fills the room, ending on a surprisingly heartwarming note.
FADE TO BLACK.
THE END